


Flip the Bird

by copyallcatsandacrobats (ordinaryalchemy)



Series: Hunting Season [3]
Category: Psych
Genre: Angst, Dom/sub, Domestic, Drama, Established Relationship, F/M, Humor, M/M, Porn, Secrets, Threesome - F/M/M, and lassiter tries all he can to hold on, is all fair in love and war?, juliet learns to let go, shawn takes no prisoners except himself, so much porn, the flip side
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-07
Updated: 2014-12-12
Packaged: 2018-02-07 08:34:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 35
Words: 151,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1892352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ordinaryalchemy/pseuds/copyallcatsandacrobats
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Now that Shawn, Juliet, and Lassiter are all together, and all in the same place, what lengths will they go to in order to stay that way? Will they flock together, or fly off the handle? Rule-following is for the birds.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Have Your Cake...

**Author's Note:**

> Size 42 pineapple-flavored thanks to my good friend Sara for beta-reading this monstrosity, picking up on some typos and providing some suggestions when my writing lapsed.

  
_Well some say life will beat you down, break your heart, steal your crown_  
_So I've started out for God knows where, I guess I'll know when I get there_  
_I'm learning to fly around the clouds—what goes up must come down_  
_I'm learning to fly but I ain't got wings...coming down is the hardest thing_  
—Tom Petty  & The Heartbreakers, “[Learning To Fly](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hMDjMKnf7WE)”

  
**SEPTEMBER 2009**

  
Shawn Spencer stopped dead in his tracks as he rounded a corner at the Santa Barbara Police Department, causing his best friend to walk into his back. Gus gave him a shove, but Shawn just shoved him back absently, unable to stop grinning or to take his eyes from the scene around several of the desks in the bullpen—newly re-transferred Carlton Lassiter, surrounded by three detectives (Kirk, the new guy Antillo, and Juliet O'Hara) two officers (Buzz McNab and Lindsey Nunez), and a file clerk (someone Shawn didn't know), with a self-satisfied smile as he recounted the story of one of his biggest busts while living in Macon, Georgia. 

Gus shoved Shawn in the middle of the back again, hissing, “Move your lovestruck ass before someone thinks there's something weird going on with you.”

“I think we're a little late for that, buddy,” Shawn said, but he moved, sidling along the wall and then leaning back, thumbs hooked into his jeans pockets, listening. “Besides, they'll just think I'm looking at Jules,” he added, turning his head slightly to whisper, but not moving his eyes away.

“Uh huh, because she's the only one in your sights right now, riiiiight?”

“Gus, don't be the Bluth family impersonating a chicken. The chief called us about a case, and that's _all_ my little heart is set on right now—murder, mystery, mayhem, and maybe later, a Mrs. Field's giant M &M cookie, of which you can of course get first dibsies on the color and placement of the candies.”

“You know that's right.” Gus nodded, satisfied.

“But until she's back in her office...” Shawn resumed his eavesdropping and staring, ignoring Gus's eye-roll.

Lassiter was holding his onlookers' attention easily with a story about leading a team through an old mansion during a raid, his voice low but quick, his eyes stern but sparkling. “It was completely silent in the hallway leading to the master bathroom,” he said, his eyes jumping from Kirk to McNab to Antillo—to Juliet, where they stayed for a moment, just half a second too long on her expectant smile— and then back to Kirk. “The door was open a crack, and we could hear the hostage struggling and the scumbag meth-head giving commands for her to stay quiet. Well, I wasn't taking any chance at all that the freak was going to _make_ her stay quiet,” he said grimly, standing taller. “I gave the signal, and we got ready to go in. I said, 'This is Assistant Chief Carlton Lassiter of the Macon Police Department! You are absolutely surrounded!' I gave the signal to one of my officers to open the door, and I had my gun on the suspect, telling him to _get on the floor_.”

He paused to take in the admiring looks everyone was giving him, and to his credit, Shawn managed to wait .63 seconds and bask in the familiarity of this old routine before shouting, “Good work, Lassie, but did you remember to walk the dinosaur?”

Lassiter whipped his head around to them, looking only slightly less exasperated than he would have a few years ago. “What?”

“Boom, boom, acka-lacka-lacka-boom,” Shawn sang.

“Boom, boom, acka-lacka-boom-boom,” Gus added. 

His moment gone, Lassiter rolled his eyes and gave them his back as they leaped away from the wall. “It was a night like this, forty million years ago,” Shawn began. “I lit a cigarette, picked up a monkey skull to throw!”

Gus chimed in, trying to make his smooth voice as raunchy as it could be. “The sun was spitting fire, the sky was blue as ice—I felt a little tired, so I watched Miami Vice!”

Most of Lassiter's spectators had turned away, having been far too used to Shawn and Gus singing and dancing and, really, doing all manner of other attention-seeking brilliance, but Juliet was still watching, her arms folded but a small smile remaining. Shawn kicked it into next gear, serenading his girlfriend as only he could, belting it out because Lassie had just unknowingly given them the _best_ setup. “I walked the dinosaaaaaur... I _walked the dinosaaaaaaaaur_...” 

And then they were dancing, as always so in sync that Shawn was still surprised they hadn't won that duo dance-off during their junior year of high school, one elbow cupped in one hand while the other hand made a dinosaur head and darted forward. “Open the door, get on the floor, everybody _walk the dinosaur_ ,” they chanted.

“ _Excuse_ me, Mr. Spencer and Mr. Guster.” Chief Vick's irritated voice halted their flailing at once; they both dropped their arms to their sides and turned around to face her, Gus looking sheepish and Shawn just looking amused and a little proud of himself. “I'm sorry if I'm interrupting your dance recital,” Vick said, frowning. “I was hoping to hire you for a case, but if whatever this was is more important to you—”

“We're very sorry, Chief,” Gus said at once. “It won't happen again. I don't know what that was.”

“Not Was,” Shawn added.

Vick gave him a quick disapproving look. “Please refrain from any more musical numbers and join me in my office.”

.

Lassiter came back from an interview with the coroner to find Shawn in his chair, leaned back so that the tips of his sneakers didn't touch the floor, and swinging one foot while flipping through a folder. He snatched the file out of his hands and told him to get up easily, as though they'd never been out of this rhythm.

“Can't,” Shawn said. “I had a vision. My butt said I was needed here.”

Lassiter flicked his eyes over. “Excuse me?” he said warningly. He glanced around quickly and saw Antillo and McNab nearby, though neither was looking in his direction.

“My butt,” Shawn repeated brightly. “It wants you to know that it's not hiding anything, anything at all, but sometimes others do.” He closed his eyes, touched two fingers to his forehead and wiggled in the chair. “I see an old man sitting in a kitchen chair, but it's not dinnertime. Something's missing—people are looking, but not in the right place. Someone's in trouble... no, make that double... poke something, poking what? Poke-a-man!”

Lassiter saw that Antillo and McNab were looking now, so he used this foot to hit the lever on the chair, lowering it all the way down in one swoop, surprising Shawn into opening his eyes and throwing his arms out for balance. “Stop saying poking!” he ordered. “And you need to vacate my chair and my whole area.”

“Hang on, Lassiter,” Antillo said, walking a few steps closer and studying Shawn. “You're the psychic?” He glanced at Lassiter. “I just got a case yesterday that I'm stuck on—an old man was stabbed in the lower back twice with an unidentified weapon at a family gathering. He swears it was his brother-in-law, but when the uniforms got there they couldn't find any weapons, and witnesses said the other old man hadn't left his seat, and he stayed right where he was while they searched, so he couldn't have had time to get rid of anything. Buzz here suggested asking you for help, but...” Antilllo's eyes flicked to Shawn again. “Are you the real deal?”

“As real as it gets,” Shawn said seriously, and Lassiter rolled his eyes when he touched his eyebrow again. “They couldn't find the weapon, _but_ the victim says he knows who stabbed him. But. Butt. The weapon was under his _butt_.” He opened his eyes and grinned. “Check the chair, chances are it's still there, to be stabbed with a hat pin is rare.”

“Wow,” McNab said, grinning. “I like that. You might want to consider listening to him, Detective Antillo—Shawn has a really good record around here. He didn't even know you were going to ask for help!”

“Just helping wherever I can,” Shawn said, affecting modesty. 

“Uh huh, right, thanks for that.” Lassiter jerked at thumb over his shoulder. “Now git.”

“Get what?”

“ _Git_ —as in, out of my chair.”

“Ohh, I see—you seem to have picked up a bit of a Southern twang, there, Hoss.” Shawn bounced to his feet and held the chair. “Your throne, Detective.” Lassiter silently pointed toward the door, and Shawn gave him another grin before sticking his hands in his pockets and sauntering that way. 

“I guess it couldn't hurt to check it out, either way,” Antillo said, looking after Shawn, and then glancing at Lassiter again. “Unless you think it would be a waste of time.”

Lassiter sighed. “No, go check it out. But don't fool yourself into thinking for a second that he's actually _psychic_ —there's no such thing, and as a detective, you should know better. But I can't say he's not... good at _guessing_.”

Antillo nodded. “Okay, gotcha.” 

He turned to go and Lassiter and threw himself down into the chair, falling farther than he'd expected because he'd forgotten about tripping the lever when Shawn was in it, and he stood back up to fix it. When he pulled himself closer to his desk to resume working, he noticed that someone was still standing there; he looked up, not surprised to see McNab still hanging around, an amused look on his giant face. “I bet you missed Shawn and Gus a little, when you were in Georgia,” McNab said. “Unless they have psychics there too?”

“Not that I ever saw, McNab. And it's hard to miss constant distractions from getting your job done.”

It was meant to be a bite toward this time-wasting uniform cop, who didn't take the hint and leave; instead, McNab nodded thoughtfully, watching Shawn, who had stopped by Juliet's desk and was leaned over, scribbling a note for her. “That's true—I guess you probably didn't miss them at all.”

“They're the original Terror Twins,” Lassiter said. “Now, if you—”

“They missed you, though—or, at least, Shawn did.”

Lassiter looked back up again sharply. “What?”

McNab looked a little startled. “Oh, just—nothing, I don't know why I thought that.” He lowered his voice, leaning slightly closer. “Maybe the spirits told him something about Detective Gates that he was too tactful to spread around.”

Lassiter knew that if he demanded to know what the hell McNab was talking about, he was likely to get spooked and would clam up. If he really wanted to know what his original train of thought was, he needed finesse, which was honestly not one of his strengths—that was something Juliet was miles better with. Luckily, this was McNab, not a wise old career criminal who was hip to it. He wanted to know, though, because neither Shawn or Juliet had mentioned anything to him about Gates other than the fact that he'd gotten Lassiter's old position after he'd moved to Georgia, and although this was only his first week back at the SBPD, he'd gotten the distinct feeling the new head detective, who was now his superior officer, was not at all pleased with his return. “Do you think Spencer doesn't like Gates?” he asked McNab, being careful to keep his voice neutral.

“I don't know,” McNab said, frowning a little. “It's been awhile, but I just remember Shawn saying that he got bad vibes all the time when Detective Gates was around, and he couldn't get visions about any of the cases he was trying to work. One time, the spirits made him spill a whole pot of fresh coffee all over his desk! Boy was Detective Gates mad—he even went and told Chief Vick, who had to tell Shawn he couldn't come into the station unless she called him for almost a month, since the spirits were being that rowdy. Shawn said it helped when Detective O'Hara was around, but that's because, you know.” McNab smiled a little.

“Uh huh,” Lassiter said. “Well, it's been great catching up, McNab, but if you don't mind...”

“Oh! Oh, sure thing, let me know if I can do anything to help.” McNab grinned wider and finally walked off.

Lassiter glanced over toward Juliet's desk, but it was deserted now, and Shawn was no longer in the station. He bent his head and his thoughts back toward the case he was working on, but he was smiling.

.

Juliet looked up from the dessert she'd been making when she heard a loud gasp. “Jules! Did you put _beef_ in the trifle?”

She snorted. “No. This isn't even a trifle.”

Shawn pulled out one of the kitchen chairs and turned it around so that he could sit on it backwards. He rested his crossed arms along the back and set his chin on his arms. “What is it?”

“This, or a trifle?”

“Both.”

“This is a pineapple layer cake, and a trifle is...” Juliet thought about ones her mother had made, years ago. “Basically lots of stuff in layers, but it's mostly custard and cake and fruit, and it's usually put in a tall glass dish, so you can see the layers.”

“ _Can_ you put beef in the trifle?”

“Are you seriously asking, or is that a euphemism?”

He smirked. “Both?”

“I somehow doubt beef and custard would taste good, but that might just be me.” She set aside her creamed shortening and sugar, checked the recipe she'd downloaded, and reached for the eggs to separate some yolks. “What did the chief want to see you and Gus about?”

He flipped up a hand, indicating that the case they'd been given was boring. “Inheritance squaffle—some lady claimed her great aunt left her more money than she got, and insisted her brother and his wife stole part of her share, so she apparently took some heirlooms that were supposed to be theirs and hid them. The brother showed her the will, but she wouldn't believe him, said he'd faked it, whatever. Vick wants me to divine where she hid a ring and some silver picture frames and a mirror and some bond certificates and some other crap.” He made a face. “I already know where it is. She won't give me anything that's a challenge anymore, just little piddly crap the 'real' detectives don't have time to mess with. I'm starting to feel like she doesn't love me anymore.”

“I'm sorry. In a few hours you can have some pineapple cake.”

Shawn grinned and stood up to kiss her. “I can't imagine that it would taste nearly as good as you,” he murmured, sliding his lips down her neck.

She closed her eyes and leaned into him. “You can have a taste test later.”

“Blindfolded? Like the Pepsi challenge?”

“Mmm... I'm pretty sure the texture would give away the surprise.”

He nodded. “Yeah. Do you want help?”

She tilted her head toward the cupboards. “Set the table, please? There's a lasagna in the oven and Carlton should be here any minute for dinner, which should be ready in about twenty minutes.”

“Food!” he cheered. “This is very domestic of you, Jules. I approve.”

Juliet snorted. “I'm glad, but most of the thanks go to my good friend Marie Callender.”

“Oh. Well, the cake is from scratch, and that's the part that counts.”

“I knew you'd see it my way.”

Shawn was just finishing setting the table when Carlton came in the kitchen; he stood in the doorway and watched as Juliet alternately added ingredients to a batter and repeatedly beat it. “Hi, Lassie,” Shawn said, and pointed to Juliet. “Look at this. Isn't it beautiful?”

“Yes,” Carlton said, smiling at her.

“It's going to be a cake,” Shawn said.

Juliet looked at Carlton, who raised his eyebrows at her. “I shouldn't let him have any,” she mused.

“ _Fine_ , I'll just have you for dessert.” Shawn sat back down on his backwards chair. Carlton sat across from him, leaned back, his arms folded, and watched him until Shawn noticed. “What's going down, Carlytown?”

“I said no.”

“Damn.”

“Answer me two questions, Shawn.”

“Any two?”

“No—I have specific ones. Firstly, how did you know about the hat pin?”

“Hat pin?” Juliet looked at Shawn.

“One of Antillo's cases,” he said to her, and then looked back at Carlton and shrugged. “He was talking to Buzz, but not all that quietly—I could hear almost everything, infer the rest, and then he showed him some pictures, so I could see what the wound looked like, and there was one of the dining area. The chairs weren't just wood, the seats had padding. That and the old man never got up.” He shrugged. “Old women like hats with pins. He nabbed, stabbed, and jabbed it into the cushion.”

“Well, you were right. Of course. “ Carlton looked at Juliet. “That was after plopping down at my desk and shouting out that his _butt_ needed me.”

“No, no, that's backwards, although it does happen to be true. I'm pretty sure the reverse is true, too, come to think of it.”

“Shawn,” Juliet scolded. “You know you need to stop drawing attention to us, especially at the station.”

“Oh contrairey—if I suddenly stop acting like I always did, _that_ would arouse suspicion.”

“I think you're assuming everyone pays more attention to you than they do,” Carlton said dryly. 

“Then why do you care if I sit at your desk or make funny faces at you?” Shawn grinned. “That's a thing that's not a thing—I've always had a special place in my special places for you. And I'm me—that's the benefit of being such a free spirit, Lass. No one takes anything I do seriously unless I want them to.”

“Hmm,” Carlton said. “Is that why you apparently poured coffee all over Gates's desk after I transferred?”

“Nope,” Shawn said. “That was because he said he was glad you took the stick up your ass and moved to the South, and now that he finally had your job, the right man was going to do it properly. I may have also replaced the contents of his bag lunches with used Popsicle sticks for a week.”

“That was you?” Juliet looked up sharply.

“You're damn right it was me,” he said, an edge of defense in his voice. “I went through three family-size boxes of Bomb Pops and my tongue turned blue out of indignation. Did he get the hint?”

“I don't—probably not?” She was a little flabbergasted at not having known it was her own boyfriend who'd been behind that, and the memory of Gates's red face and shouts was still very clear. “He was getting _so_ mad, though. Why didn't you ever tell me it was you who did that?”

He shrugged. “Sorry. Sometimes the less you know, the better.”

“That's not ominous,” Carlton said, and when Juliet glanced at him, she was a little surprised to see that he was smiling at Shawn—she would have thought he would be conducting the scolding train for workplace pranks. “You did that because he said disparaging things about me after I left?”

Shawn glanced back at him, his gaze a little defiant. “Yup.”

“That's—immature, and childish, and...” Carlton shook his head, clearly trying to stop smiling, but unable to straighten his expression.

“And... you love me for it?”

“Well, not _for_ that, necessarily.”

“But...” Shawn prompted, raising his eyebrows.

“He loves your butt,” Juliet said.

Shawn grinned. “I know that. A lot.” He looked back at Carlton and beckoned at him with one hand. “Come on... tell me something...”

Carlton now had his usual serious expression back on. “Don't pull that sort of thing again—he _is_ the head detective, and you need to show respect.”

“And...?”

He started to frown, clearly thinking that Shawn was challenging that, and then realized what he wanted to hear. “And I love you,” he almost sighed. After he'd said it when they originally decided to all be together, Shawn would randomly demand to hear it at any given time of day, though he'd been tapering it down to no more than twice a day in the last couple of weeks. Juliet could see how it could become wearying—he'd done the same thing with her before settling down—but Carlton's patience was holding up quite well since he'd come back to Santa Barbara, considering that anyone in love with Shawn Spencer was likely to want to smack him at least twice a day.

“Good. Can I tell you something?”

“What?”

“Me and Gus are _not_ the original Terror Twins—that would be Steve Clark and Phil Collen of Def Leppard, who are not to be confused with the Toxic Twins of Mötley Crüe.” Shawn looked pleased with himself, and then he shrugged when Carlton gave him a look. “What? I wasn't eavesdropping—if anything, I was picking them up. What are eaves, again? Awww, c'mon Lassie, don't be mad, I looooooove youuuuu...” He laid his head back down on his arms and tried to look cute.

Carlton looked at Juliet. “This is what I have to put up with now, isn't it?”

She shrugged. “Sorry.” Then she smiled. “In a few hours, you can have some cake.”


	2. Oh Deer (The Six-Point Buck)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter turned out incredibly long, and almost all of it is porn, including Dom/sub positions and the use of a strap-on, other sex toys, handcuffs, and punishments (primarily orgasm delay/denial, but a bit of pain as well).

**OCTOBER 2009**

_There's no sensation to compare with this_  
_Suspended animation, a state of bliss_  
_Can't keep my mind from the circling sky_  
_Tongue-tied and twisted, just an earthbound misfit, I_  
—Pink Floyd, “[Learning To Fly](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2mKDvp7MavQ)”

  
Juliet arrived at work a little early on a Monday, surprised to find a note already on her desk inviting her to see the chief as soon as she was in. She stowed her purse in her desk and went to receive her newest assignment and then she got to work immediately, making lists of places to go and people to talk to. She spent half an hour looking up priors on a couple possible suspects in a burglary, and then lost almost two hours trying to track down one suspect's current address, finding nothing but dead ends when she attempted to contact family members or previous partners. She'd just discovered that one of the suspects had an alias that was tied to another case when her rumbling stomach told her it was time for a break, time for lunch, and she smiled when she looked across the room to see Carlton at his desk, just glancing over to her and raising his eyebrows.

When they got back from lunch together (she dawdled outside for a couple of minutes, calling Shawn to check up on the current case he and Gus were on, just in case he'd forgotten to mention some impending danger or the probability that they were going to need to involve the police, also so that she and Carlton wouldn't walk into the building at the same time), she got back to her burglary case, calling down for a file clerk to bring her some witness statements for a case that was still open from a year ago. “Thank you,” she said, trying to muster some enthusiasm for the six-inch stack of paper to go through. She looked up to give the clerk a little smile as payment for dragging the files up, and then she paused when she saw the way the other woman was glancing across the room.

Juliet got home before either Shawn or Carlton got to the apartment, which was good because of her mood: annoyed, harried, very slightly foreboding. It was none of anyone's business who she had lunch with, who she was currently dating, and who was her last partner, and though she didn't want to admit it, the too-casual questions from the file clerk had put her off her footing, making her have to think quickly and carefully so that she wouldn't inadvertently say anything that could come back on any of them, all while making it seem like there was nothing to be careful for. She hadn't been able to fully commit her attention to the case she was investigating for the rest of the afternoon, and that annoyed her too. Since the case only contained destruction and theft of property, no altercations or injuries to people, she had found a stopping place and left, telling herself she could get back on it tomorrow after a good night's sleep. Prior to that, however, she decided she needed to get back into a controlled mindset, and thought she knew of the perfect way to reassert her confidence over at least one part of her life.

She was on the sofa when Carlton came in, his briefcase in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other. He closed the door by swinging his foot back at it, and then he set his briefcase down near the armchair and eased down into it. “Hello,” she said softly.

He glanced at her, raising an eyebrow slightly. “Any particular reason you looked like you wanted to kill that new file clerk today?”

She thought about whether or not to tell him, and decided that they should all be kept up, just in case they were later forced to synchronize their stories. “Yes—she apparently felt it necessary to discern whether or not you and I were quote-unquote 'a thing', since we left at the same time and came back in the same car, and that we used to be partners, but no longer are, and she'd heard I've been dating 'the weirdfreaky psychic'.”

He scowled. “What, does she think she's a detective now? Was she trying to piss you off?”

Juliet shrugged. “I don't think so—I think she's just the sort that's nosy by nature. They call it 'socially interested' or something. Did I really look like I wanted to kill her?”

“Probably not to anyone that doesn't know you,” he said after a moment. “It was your 'thin ice' look, and it was making that clerk look a little deer-in-the-headlights. I only noticed because I was looking around for Dobson and saw her standing by your desk.”

Juliet was amused in spite of the cause of that look. “You name my looks?”

“No. Just a few of them.” 

“Hmm. Well, I won't deny it put me into kind of a crappy mood.”

“Oh, dear.” He started to grin. “Maybe I can help you out of it.”

She tilted her head at him, considering, and although he seemed to have been about to get up, he paused, blinking at her. “No, I don't think so,” she said softly. “Not this time. This time I need Shawn. If you're interested, then you and I would need to talk about it first. Either way, not until later.”

“Talk about what?” he asked, confused. Instead of answering, she folded her hands on her lap. His eyes dropped to them, and she saw him notice what she had on her wrist. “What's that?”

Now she smiled, looking down at the thin piece of leather that was snapped snugly to itself. Its true job was to fasten something in place, but when she'd discovered that it fit almost perfectly around her wrist, it gained a second job: declaration. “Oh, this? You'll see when Shawn gets home—which should be any minute. Watch him when he comes in: he'll see it right away, and you'll see what he does.”

“Okay,” Carlton said, a little mystified.

Sure enough, the door opened just a couple of minutes later and Shawn came in, dropping his bike helmet on the floor and kicking the door closed. “Hi Lassie,” he called, and had already started to greet her when his eyes dropped to her hands. “Hi Ju—” he began, and then his mouth slammed closed, his eyes widened, and he dropped to his knees right where he stood, staring at her face and looking a mixture of pleading and hungry. 

Juliet smiled again, seeing Carlton's eyebrows go up from the corner of her eye. “Hello, Shawn.” He licked his lips and raised his eyebrows higher, asking permission, and she nodded her head toward the bedroom. “Go get it.” He beamed a huge grin at her and got to his feet, disappearing to the bedroom in a matter of seconds.

Carlton looked at Juliet. “How did you make him do that?” He glanced at the makeshift bracelet again. “What is that, actually?”

She stood up and held a hand out to him. “Follow me and see, if you can just watch until I say so.”

“I can do that,” he said, looking fascinated now. “What are you going to do to him?”

She smiled. “I'm going to fuck him.”

.

In the bedroom, Juliet pointed at a chair near the closet and Lassiter sat, his eyes glued to the box that was on the end of the bed, the lid pushed open as Shawn rifled through it—he'd seen that box before, of course, although he'd never gone prospecting for what treasures it might hold other than what the other two selected on the occasions they'd wanted to, well, play. There was a leather paddle that was good for making Shawn's ass nice and red, although he seemed to prefer being bent over someone's knee and spanked by hand. Juliet had once ordered both Shawn and Lassiter to sit against the back wall, without making a sound, as she lay on her back on the bed, naked, her legs spread and her knees flexing as she fucked herself with a dildo, moaning while the fingers of one hand dragged over her hard nipples and then gasping when she rubbed at her clit. (Shawn had been unable to behave and follow directions, and so Juliet had tied his hands behind his back, shoved a different dildo up his ass, and told him he could only come if he did so without anyone touching his dick. He had whined and begged and squirmed for the next ninety minutes while the other two ignored him completely and discovered three new positions around the bedroom in which to fuck each other silly.)

Lassiter was willing to try most things, but he particularly liked what Shawn called The Ring-A-Ling Circus, which was a cock ring big enough to go around his balls as well, and snug enough to keep him big and so rock hard that he could fuck both of them for an hour and not come himself until Shawn had yelled his voice hoarse and Juliet had come at least twice. There were other things in the box (lube with a numbing agent for times when Juliet was willing to let Shawn fuck her in the ass, a nubby finger-glove thing that Shawn had once used up Lassiter's ass to stroke his prostate while sucking on his dick—that had him grunting _fuck, fuck, fuck me Shawn_ in a surprisingly short amount of time—a couple of different blindfolds, a couple of gags, various dildos and plugs that inspired any number of creative scenarios) but there were a few that were used more often than the rest.

And then there was Juliet's strap-on.

Lassiter had only seen her use it once; since he'd moved back to Santa Barbara, Shawn had jumped at nearly every opportunity to get Lassiter's dick in him at one end or the other, and he'd said once that while he enjoyed 'getting stuck real good' in just about any way, he tended to prefer a real dick fucking him, as the owner could also feel it. However, about two weeks after moving back home (Santa Barbara was home, and these two were home, even if he did have to pretend to live alone in a tiny apartment away from them) Lassiter had gotten off work early and arrived at their apartment, going into the bedroom to find Shawn on his stomach with his legs spread and Juliet on top of him; she was naked except for a black leather harness, and when Lassiter had stopped in the doorway, his mouth dropping open and the front of his pants becoming entirely too tight, she'd looked back over her shoulder at him and he'd seen that she was also wearing a satisfied grin as she pistoned her hips forward hard and Shawn moaned into the mattress, his hands squeezing fistfuls of the top sheet. She'd put her hands on his shoulders, holding him down, and continued to fuck him until he'd absolutely begged for her to let him turn over, at which time he'd managed to lay back and stay still barely long enough for her to get it inside him again, and then he'd reached one hand up to squeeze one of her breasts, his other hand squeezing his dick, and when she resumed fucking him he came in less than a minute, his eyes rolling back and his legs pulling her closer, tighter.

The little strap she'd been wearing around her wrist had a snap at each side, and now Lassiter watched as she used it to attach the front of the harness to one of the thigh straps. She checked to make sure each strap was secure and snug, that the dildo she'd stuck through the hole in the front was fitted tightly against the ring, and then she looked at Shawn, who was on his knees again, his arms hanging at his sides, gazing up at her with that hungry look still on his face and in his eyes. 

“Say your safe word,” she directed.

“Neptune,” he breathed. 

“ _Seven_ is your unlucky number, do you understand?”

Shawn nodded. 

“What did you pick?” she asked. Shawn lifted one hand from the floor and held it out, displaying a pair of standard, police-issue handcuffs—not the novelty sort that were padded, or the ones that had the quick-released button on the side. Lassiter's eyes widened a little as he watched Shawn hold one cuff in each hand, offering them up to Juliet. They looked familiar—very familiar. There was a small nick in one of the links between the bracelets.

“Hey!” he said, sitting up straighter. “Are those _mine_?”

Shawn jumped, just a little, and Juliet gave Lassiter a cool look with her eyebrows raised. He closed his mouth and sat back again, not wanting to be denied his spectator state, but he frowned at the cuffs. Juliet took them from Shawn, examining them. She held them in one hand and ran the fingers of the other through Shawn's hair, and then she gripped his hair and pulled him closer, so that the side of his face rested against her hip. “Answer,” she said.

“He gave them to me,” Shawn said at once, his eyes focused on her face.

“What! I did not!” Lassiter yelped, and then, “Sorry,” when Juliet flashed her eyes at him, a real warning that she absolutely would kick him out if he couldn't keep still.

Juliet let go of Shawn's hair and hooked a cuff onto each of her thumbs, holding them so that the chain was taut. She pressed it against the line of his lips and laid her hands on the side of his face, so that the cuffs were on his cheeks, and when he opened his mouth so that the chain was between his lips, Lassiter felt his cock twitch in his pants again. He was going to make Shawn do that himself. Soon.

“You look nice like this,” Juliet said softly, one corner of her mouth turned up. Shawn didn't make a sound, but the tip of his tongue slid forward, underneath the chain, along it. Juliet continued to look down at him with the little smile, but—stolen handcuffs or not—Lassiter was breathing harder, watching the dark pink of Shawn's soft tongue lick along the metal. Fuck. Juliet removed her hands from Shawn's head and held the cuffs up to examine them, and her eyes flicked over to the corner. “He's not allowed to make jokes right now,” she said softly. “You really can't remember ever giving him these?” Lassiter frowned and shook his head, and Juliet looked back down at Shawn. “Are you lying?” she asked. His eyes didn't leave hers as he shook his head firmly, left, right, center. She put her hand back on his head, but didn't grip his hair. “Explain how you got these, Shawn.”

“Tom Blair's pub,” he said. “Lassie was drunk, upset about the poisoned astronomer. Couldn't prove it, said he wasn't a good cop anymore, gave them to me. Didn't need them anymore.”

Lassiter opened his mouth to protest, and then closed it again when Juliet glanced at him. She looked back down at Shawn and this time her fingers did pull at his hair a little. “He wasn't _really_ giving them to you, and you knew that,” she said. Shawn grinned widely; Juliet raised her eyebrows at him, looked down at the cuffs, and then put them over the dildo, pushing them back until they rested against the base of it. She then threw her hair over her shoulder and thrust her hips forward slightly. “Suck my dick, Shawn.”

He obeyed at once, licking down the side of the silicone with his eyes still focused on hers, then opening his mouth and taking it almost all the way down. He laid a hand on her thigh and she twisted her fingers in his hair. “One,” she said. He removed his hand and held them both in the air in front of his stomach, clearly wanting to touch and clearly not allowed to. Juliet pulled his head down and he breathed hard through his nose in satisfaction, sucking on the rubber dick with what looked like as much enthusiasm as he had when swallowing Lassiter's real one. Said real dick was completely stiff in Lassiter's pants as he watched this, his breath coming harder. He looked at Juliet, who was wearing just the harness and a black lace bra, the points of her nipples sticking up in the fabric. One of Shawn's hands moved lower as he continued to suck Juliet's dick, and the second he squeezed his own crotch through his jeans she pulled him off, pushing him back so suddenly that he almost fell, but her hand was in his hair and and her fingers held him tightly. “Two,” she said. Shawn whimpered. Juliet smiled as if she was about to confer a huge favor. “Three.”

Lassiter wanted to ask what the counting was for, but while he was sure he'd find out soon enough, he wasn't sure he wanted any counting of his own. Not yet, anyway—she'd said something about being unlucky if he got to seven.

“You started off well, Shawn, but now you're starting to forget the rules,” Juliet was saying, and she tilted her head. “Or you just don't mind breaking them. Which is it?”

Shawn's eyes flicked down to the dildo, which was gleaming from his saliva. He seemed to consider something for a moment, and then his neck bent forward hard and he sucked it all the way down, fast. Juliet put both hands into his hair and twisted, yanking him off again hard. “You are _not_ being good,” she said softly, but in a way that said she didn't really mind that much. He tried to go for the dildo again and she tightened her fingers in his hair. “Four.” Pause. “Five.” Shawn's mouth dropped open and his eyes widened, and it was her turn to grin. “Going to be good now?” 

When Shawn didn't move or make a sound, she pulled him forward again and shoved the dildo into his mouth. She continued to hold his head, though not as tightly, and rocked her hips to fuck his mouth slowly, giving him time to suck on it as she moved. After a few moments of that, she held him down at the base with one hand, and then used the other to pull the handcuffs against his lips as she moved him back, so that they made an O around his mouth. She looked at Lassiter, who didn't at first register that she was watching him—he was too busy thinking about fucking Shawn's mouth like that himself. He would need to be careful, as the cuffs were real metal and had real edges, but it could be done by putting one hand on the back of his head and making him sink down slowly, making him stay put and suck with his throat bulging. Lassiter shifted on his seat, barely noticing that too, only knowing how hard his cock was throbbing now.

.

Juliet couldn't help but grin at the look in Carlton's eyes, how still his face was, how tightly he was gripping the arms of the chair... how hard he was. This wasn't for him, though—he could stay and watch if he remained quiet, and she might do this to him at some point soon, just to see where his boundaries lay—but right now Shawn was hers. His heart and his body belonged to both of them most of the time now, but he had been hers first—she'd loved him first, had fucked him first. Normally she wasn't very possessive, or very domineering, but she could be when she felt like it, and he loved it.

She let got of him and went to the box that was still on the edge of the bed, pawing through it lightly to find something in particular. Shawn had remembered not to take any of his clothes off until she gave permission, and was still completely dressed, including his sneakers. He'd known he was going to get an up count for trying her patience, so she would try his. She turned around with a bottle of lube and a prostate massager that had a curved ring at the end—one that was meant to be left where it was—and she grinned again when Shawn squinted at it and then licked his lips, knowing that it meant she wasn't going to let him come for awhile. He had no idea.

Juliet sat on the edge of the bed, her knees spread and the dildo sticking out between her thighs, which she patted lightly. “Come here, Shawn.” He obeyed and she touched his mouth, applying a little pressure and then slowly moving her hand. He moved with her, his lips still attached to her finger, and she brought them to the inside of one thigh. He kissed her skin lightly and she smiled, had him kiss the other one. Good boy. He was probably going to be very obedient now, not wanting that seven, or even a six. She could make him earn it... that might be good, yes. She could easily make him beg.

.

Lassiter watched silently, hungrily, as Juliet pulled Shawn over her lap, his pants and briefs pulled down just far enough for her to stick a small, slicked-up plug-thing into his ass. She was using one hand to wiggle it into place while the other hand was buried in the hair at the back of his head, pulling his head back far enough so that he was forced to keep it up, and Lassiter could see his face, his eyes rolling back and his teeth pulling at his lower lip in an effort to keep quiet and not squirm. He tried to spread his legs to allow the plug's entrance, but since his jeans were still most of the way up, he only succeeded in a wiggle over her lap that caused him to almost lose his balance, and he grabbed onto her leg. She tugged on his hair again and shoved the plug into him hard, and when he whimpered at that, she smiled, tapped on the base of the plug firmly several times, and said, “Six.” He squeezed his eyes closed, taking his hand off her leg but not setting it on the floor; his mouth dropped open and he panted, but silently, his thigh muscles tensing rhythmically, like he wanted to buck his hips.

Juliet suddenly flung her arm into the air and brought it down on one side of his ass hard. Shawn's eyes flew open and he tried to duck his head, but she held onto his hair tighter, quickly hitting his other cheek just as hard. He let out a slow breath—if he moaned or made any other sound it was too quiet to hear across the room—and Juliet smiled. She tugged on the ring, pulling the plug out just slightly, then let it go and it disappeared back into him. She did that a couple of times, until Shawn was writhing against her leg again, very clearly wanting to thrust back but knowing better. Lassiter felt for him, just a little—Juliet really had only bared just enough of his ass for this, and while the button of his jeans was undone, most of the zipper was still up, and Shawn's cock had to be uncomfortable due to the restraint. Lassiter barely noticed when his own hand dropped into his lap and squeezed his dick through his trousers.

.

Juliet pulled Shawn's pants back up over his ass and then moved him back onto his knees, though she didn't rebutton them. He sat back against his heels slowly, his hands flat on his thighs, his chest heaving very slightly. She crooked a finger at him to come closer, and when he was between her thighs she kissed him deeply, going on and on until his legs were shaking and he was trying very hard not to thrust his hips forward, not that that would have given him much. Juliet put a hand on the back of his neck and moved his mouth to her breast, and he eagerly pushed his lips against the lace of her bra. She grinned and used one finger to hook the cup down far enough so that she could rub her nipple against his lips, and when he looked up and raised his eyebrows, wanting badly for permission to lick, she pulled her nipple away and traced his lips with her finger. He closed his eyes for just a moment, and when he opened them, his pupils dilated and his irises much darker than usual, she slipped her finger into his mouth and rubbed at his tongue. He kept perfectly still and so she smiled, removed her finger, and rewarded him, first by bending down to give him a quick kiss on the lips, and then by putting her nipple into his mouth.

“Go ahead,” she said softly, and at once he was sucking at it, using the soft flat part of his tongue to roll over it, making the end of his tongue into a point to poke and rub into the center, where she had the most nerves. She rewarded him again, this time with a moan that was only partly theatrical. He was very good at that and she enjoyed it immensely, could feel the tingles it sent to her pussy and she tensed her muscles, biting her lower lip. She pulled him off and immediately moved him to the other one, glancing at Carlton again and seeing him rhythmically squeezing his cock through his pants, watching them so avidly she wondered if he even knew he was doing it.

“Mmm...” she breathed. “Good, Shawn.” She lowered her neck to kiss the side of his face again. “Now suck my dick some more.” He obeyed immediately, moving back just enough so that he could bend his back and take the end of it into his mouth. He shifted on his knees for better balance, his hands still on his thighs. “Hands,” she said, and he held them up while still going down on the dildo. She was impressed—of course he actually didn't want to risk that seven, which was the unlucky lucky number (the denial, not just delay, of his orgasm), or perhaps he was behaving a little more because Carlton was watching, either way he'd earned another reward. “Very good,” she said softly, taking his hands and laying them on her own thighs. “Five.” 

His fingers twitched on her skin and he breathed deeply, pleased that his number of warnings—and subsequent punishments—had gone down. She knew that was solely because it gave him a little leeway to push his limits again, but he also knew perfectly well that she might give him two counts instead of one for anything. That was okay—he liked risks. She leaned back a little, her hands behind her on the mattress, and thrust her hips forward as he continued to suck her cock, his hands gripping her thighs for balance and a little leverage. She watched him go on for a few minutes, until his lower half started to squirm again—she knew the prostate massager made him feel like it was fucking him, juuuust a little, every time he tensed—and then she pulled him off, one hand under his chin, holding his face, the other picking up the handcuffs she'd set down next to her and showing them to him.

“Ready?” she asked him, and although he kept his eyes on hers, he turned his face so that his cheek pressed against the metal, and she smiled. “Strip.”

.

When Shawn was naked, Juliet ordered him on his back on the bed, and then she sat on his chest, clicked one bracelet of the handcuffs over one wrist, reached for the cuff that snaked between the mattress and the headboard (the other end of this being clamped to one of the bed's underneath supports), ran the chain through it and closed it, and locked Shawn's other wrist down. She crawled back down his body, tilting her head to consider him as he wiggled his fingers a little in anticipation. His legs were bent at the knees and Lassiter could see the ring of the toy inside him, as well as how hard he was, and that, apparently, every time he squirmed or flexed it caused his cock to twitch. He wanted to fuck him. He wanted to fuck her. He kind of wanted her to fuck him. He squeezed his dick again, letting out a low breath and wondering how much longer she was going to make him just watch.

.

Juliet started to touch Shawn, running the fingers of one hand along his ribs, over his stomach, not quite to his dick. He licked his lip just a little, only the very tip of his tongue poking out, when she traced across his hip, underneath his belly button, to the inside of his thigh. Then she quickly moved her other hand to one of his nipples and pinched hard—Shawn jumped and opened his mouth and then closed it quickly. Juliet smiled. “Four,” she said, and then very lightly danced her fingertips across to his other nipple, circling it. “Three,” she said very softly, almost a question, watching his face. He braced himself and she pinched that one as well, adding a twist. This time he yelped, cutting it off as soon as he could, his eyes wide.

“ _Good_ boy,” she purred, and bent her head down to soothe that nipple and then the other with her tongue. Shawn closed his eyes and breathed slowly, his thighs flexing as he squeezed down, and then he squirmed again, just enough to make his dick wiggle in the air. She smiled and kissed his chest between his nipples, then his stomach, dipped her tongue into his belly button and licked slowly down, stopping just before the tip of his dick could touch her cheek. She looked up to make sure he was watching and then she bent her head down, licked her lips, poked her tongue out and swiped her tongue across nothing but air, only half an inch above his cock, which had a big drop of clear fluid pooled in the hole. His hands were in loose fists and he pulled against the handcuffs for just a second before making himself relax his arms, although his thighs flexed again. Every time he squeezed the object in his ass it pressed against his prostate, and if left entirely alone he could, after several minutes and a big shot of imagination, get it to make him come. He might not get the chance tonight, not with how far he'd pushed the envelope, trying to show off. Juliet tugged at the ring of the toy and made it come out a little, and then she released it so that he would squeeze and it would press against him internally again. He let out a huff of breath that was nearly a moan and leaned his head back, his heels digging into the mattress, pressing on the massager so that it would press into him harder.

“Shawn...” she said, very softly, dragging it out, nearly singing it. He looked back down at her again and she opened her mouth around the head of his dick, opened wide... but still didn't take it in. This time she added a couple of very minor tugs on the ring of the toy, making it tap into him. His legs started to shake again with the effort of not thrusting up into her mouth—although his dick twitched hard, it didn't touch her lips, so she didn't count him again—and she smiled again as she sat up away from him. “Two.”

Shawn's eyelids fluttered closed for a moment, possibly in relief, or just trying to keep himself down so that he would get his last punishment and then his reward. Juliet kept her eyes on his face, and she smiled widely when she spoke another word and his eyes flew open. “Carlton.”

.

Lassiter had to blink several times to feel his gaze sharpen enough to look back at her. He's almost forgotten that she knew he was there, but the way she was looking at him now dispelled that thought at once—for now, he was the only one she was focusing on. He cleared his throat and said, “Yes?” because _Shawn_ was the one who was submissive now, not him. Not at all.

Juliet raised an eyebrow at him and he licked his lips before just raising both of his own to indicate that he was listening for her next instruction. Not because she was the boss of him, but because he knew that if he obeyed, she paid off. He was good at following directions, and she was good at—not reinforcement—per se. Rewarding.

She turned so that she was sitting at the very edge of the bed again, and his eyes dropped to her strapped-on dick for a moment before glancing up at her again, unsure if she was bringing him into it, under her. He was so hard at the moment that if she so much as twitched her hand to the dildo he would be willing to do just as Shawn had and suck her cock. It wouldn't taste like Shawn's, but it just might rile him up even more to look up and see her looking down at him doing it.

“Shawn is having a hard time,” she said softly, and paused to grin. “With the rules, among other things. That big mouth of his can't ever seem to close entirely.” She looked over her shoulder at him pointedly—he'd been biting at his lips, his fingers flexing in the cuffs, and when he saw both of them looking he licked his lips with his chest heaving slightly, as if he actually couldn't help it. Juliet looked back at Lassiter and smiled again, triumphantly, before she leaned back and lifted her legs so that her heels were planted on the edge of the mattress, and he could see that the harness she was wearing left her pussy completely bared. “Come here,” she invited, and he was off the chair and on his knees in a second. She draped her knees over his shoulders to pull him closer and he eagerly bent his neck, listening for the waver in her first moan as he very slowly dipped his tongue into her slit; just the tip stroking her open, then as much as he could extend into her, lapping at so much wetness that his cock throbbed again, hard. He rubbed over her clit, applying just enough pressure so that her thighs tightened and she moaned again, this time not at all for show, he was quite sure.

Almost instantly there was another sound—a whimper from Shawn that he tried to cut off but couldn't. Lassiter looked over at him quickly, curiously, and saw him close his eyes and throw his head back, tossing it from side to side as his hips bucked and he started to pant. 

“Three,” Juliet said sharply, and his eyes flew open again, but this time he looked so pleading, and so desperate, that Juliet quickly unhooked her legs from Lassiter's shoulders and moved up to him, both hands twisting into pincers as she grabbed onto Shawn's nipples and pulled. He yowled and his back arched, but she held on. “No,” she said firmly. “ _No_ , Shawn. You will not come. Don't do it. Do _not_ come. Get back down. Now.”

He relaxed but was panting harder now, his body covered with sweat and trembling. She let go of his nipples and used the pads of her thumbs to soothe them, though not too much because he was so close. After another moment his breathing quieted a little more and she gave him a smile. “Good,” she said. “Very good. Two. Can you handle two, Shawn? I can give you two... or I can give you seven.”

He shook his head hard, eyes wide, his fingers closed into fists for a few seconds. Lassiter wondered what the hell the seven was—he hadn't been quite able to discern if each number referred to a specific consequence or if they were just the number of punishments he was to face for disobedience. 

“Two, then? That's good. You're being very good now.” Juliet leaned down and kissed his cheek. “Just a little longer. You can hold on for me.”

He nodded, his eyes still on her face, and then he licked his lips, very slowly, deliberately.

“Oh,” she said softly, contemplatively. “ _You_ want a taste?”

His head jerked up and down quickly and then he slowed, continuing to nod but clearly trying to be calmer about it. She seemed to think about it for a moment, and then she rose up on her knees, spreading them slightly so that one hand could reach underneath the dildo and her fingers could slide inside her pussy. She closed her eyes and breathed out an “mmm” sound, licking her lips and throwing her head back a little, and Shawn's hips jerked upwards again, twice before he managed to stop and lay still again. Juliet opened her eyes and held up her fingers, both wet and gleaming, and she held her hand above his face.

“You want this?” she asked. He nodded. “How much do you want it?” He blinked, and for just the briefest of moments his eyes went far away—he was thinking very hard and very fast, probably determining which was the best way to actually get what he wanted. While he did that, Juliet smiled again, and Lassiter bet himself (nothing much, just to get his mouth on Shawn's still-leaking cock as soon as possible, the second Shawn was allowed that, if he didn't come another way, and _soon_ ) that Shawn wasn't going to taste her tonight, not while she was so in control. 

Shawn stayed absolutely still, nothing moving but his chest as he was still breathing harshly, and then his tongue darted out to wet his lips again, his eyes begging for it. Juliet snatched her hand away and stuck her fingers into her own mouth; Shawn's eyes went wide and he seemed to stop breathing, and Lassiter had to close his eyes, his frantic mind searching for anything to keep himself from losing his own composure. He landed on one of his current cases, a murderer that might end up walking because they were having trouble convincing the sole witness of her continued safety. He laid his cheek against the mattress and called up the case number, the suspect's initial date of arrest, the name of the judge that had signed the warrant. 

When he looked back up, Juliet was glancing at him again, ignoring Shawn, who had his eyes closed and still wasn't breathing—he was probably also attempting to think of anything anything _anything_ to keep himself from coming before he'd been given permission to. “Such a hard time,” she said, very quietly, and began crawling to the edge of the bed, where Lassiter still knelt, once more. “Let's try this again.” She positioned herself where she was before, her ass almost hanging off the edge of the mattress while her knees hooked over Lassiter's shoulders, though she didn't spread her legs any more than was necessary to hold onto him, so he didn't move forward yet. 

She looked over her shoulder at Shawn, who was obediently watching them again. “Do you want one?” she asked him. He nodded. “Put your knees up,” she said, and he did, sliding his feet closer to his body and opening his legs, giving himself a position of almost ready to be fucked. “Good,” she said. “You stay like that.” She lay her head back and Lassiter could feel her legs shifting, her heels pulling him closer. He moved at once, laying both hands on the insides of her thighs to spread her open and rub his lips against hers. She made a breathy moaning sound and twitched her hips up, pushing her clit into his mouth, and he obliged. “Ohh... yes, Carlton, you're so good...” she said, her voice that high-pitched feminine breath that he loved and sunk into. “D... don't you come, Shawn,” she went on, her voice going up and down a little now. “You stay... ohhh... don't you—don't you come. Stay down. Oh, god, yes, _yes_...”

Lassiter had to let go of her thighs—she was gripping him too hard now to make it useful anyway—and instead he clamped his hands on the edge of the bed, partly to have something so solid to hang onto and partly to help him gently rock his face into her, making his tongue fuck her. He was so hard, so fucking hard, and he squeezed the mattress so tightly that his fingers hurt so that he wouldn't touch himself and come in his trousers.

Juliet came—her entire body suddenly tensed so hard that she drove his face into her with no room to breathe, but that was okay. He kept going, licking up and down and then molding his lips around her clit like Shawn had told him she'd liked and he'd found out for himself so quickly. She bucked into his mouth and then her fingers were in his hair, pulling him back so hard he almost wrenched his neck because of the way her legs were still draped over him. He looked up at her, panting, his mouth and chin soaked, and she dropped her legs and yanked him up in one smooth motion, crashing her mouth into his and licking over his lips before sliding her tongue into his mouth, moaning and scooting back, pulling him with her.

“Fuck, yes,” she was panting. “Oh, oh, Carlton, yes, fuck, fuck me, _fuck me_.”

 _I am going to lose it_ , he thought, barely coherent as he yanked his pants down so fast and so hard a button may have popped. He didn't care. He didn't even care enough to get undressed farther than that, only enough to pull his dick out and thrust it into her, how hot and slick she was. He planted his hands next to her sides as she wrapped her legs around the small of his back, clasping her hands around his neck, and he _fucked her_. Her breaths turned into moans, turned into cries, and when he couldn't hold on any more, not one second more, he looked into her eyes and told her everything, everything by the way he gasped her name. Her eyes rolled back and she fairly screamed as she came again, and it went on and on. She lost her breath and whooped in a second, her long catlike wail turning into a series of “ah!” pants before finally slowing down to a lower “oh, oh, ohhhh...”

Lassiter let his breath out in a huge whoosh, starting to gasp and pant himself, his head feeling light and his arms trembling. They both heard another high-pitched, gasping whimper, and looked to see Shawn so in a state that it was a wonder he hadn't come yet—that really went to say something about his willpower when he put his mind to it. It was going to be close, though—he hadn't moved his legs from where Juliet had ordered him, but he was trembling all over, his hips bucking and jerking, his cock huge and hard and dark. His wrists pulled at the cuffs holding his arms above his head and he was alternating biting his lips, hard, and licking at them. His eyes were half-lidded and he threw his head back, his toes curling against the sheet.

Juliet was up in a second. “No!” she commanded, very loudly. “Shawn! I said no.” 

“Please!” he cried, almost sobbing as his lower body continued to thrust upward. “Ohmygod, _oh_ my _god_...”

“Oh, sweetheart,” she said, so quietly that they almost couldn't hear her. Shawn froze suddenly, his eyes going wide and his hips going still against the bed. “Dear me. I was just going to give you your one.”

 _I love you_ , he mouthed silently. He was shaking hard, either because of how close to coming unraveled he was, or because of how hard he was trying to keep himself from coming.

“I guess I'll just take this away from you,” Juliet said softly, in a musing tone, as she reached between his legs. 

Shawn stayed still while she gave the ring still sticking out of him a pull, and although his dick jumped and his eyes went hazy as the toy came out, he didn't come, or move, or make a sound. It was actually kind of small, and it wasn't until Lassiter realized how curved it was that he finally figured out what it was—a prostate massager. That explained it—neither of them had used this particular toy on him, though there had been a few times when Shawn took the time and the patience to slowly work him loose and open enough to find his, to get him ready to be fucked. He loved Shawn, and didn't exactly mind being on the receiving end of anal sex with him, but it was more than obvious that he didn't enjoy it nearly as much as Shawn did, and that it took a while to get him ready enough, so it wasn't a regular occurrence.

“Good,” Juliet said, after she had tossed the toy to the floor near the box. “Now what should I do with you?” Shawn didn't answer verbally, but his deliberate eye-drop to her strap-on was response enough. “I should fuck you?” she asked, raising her eyebrows doubtfully. “Hmm. I don't know if you've earned it.” She was moving, though, settling between his bent legs. She adjusted the dildo so that it was pointed down, so that it couldn't move forward when she did and touch Shawn's dick, but he shuddered just the same when the head of it pressed near, but not quite into, his hole. Leaned over him, Juliet looked down at his face for a long moment, long enough for him to start licking his lips and wiggling his toes, so badly wanting to lift his legs up for her. 

Finally, she nodded. “Okay, Shawn. You were mostly really good, so I'll fuck you.” His eyes went wide and then rolled back in relief, but they focused and sharpened again when she touched his mouth. “Mostly good,” she repeated. “You know better than to try me, but you do, because you always get your way in the end, don't you?” He didn't move, didn't seem to breathe, his eyes completely still. She smiled. “One. I'm going to fuck you hard, sweetheart. But don't you come. Don't... you... dare.” 

She moved up a little, more upright, and when she looked around Lassiter handed her the bottle of lube he was already holding. She took it from him with barely a glance and applied a very small amount to the dildo, enough to cover the head and most of the shaft but only as a very thin layer; there was no extra, and although Shawn had some already inside him from the toy, which had loosened him up some and kept him on the edge of coming for so long now, this was probably going to hurt—Lassiter judged the dildo at a healthy seven or eight inches, about the size of his own dick. He watched mildly as she carefully pushed the head against Shawn and lifted one of his legs up, wondering how much she was really going to give him, and if she was going to continue to make him stay quiet. Experience had shown him that Shawn could take a rough, painful fucking, that he sometimes loved it, but he wouldn't be able to stifle his cries or whimpers if it was intense. 

Before her first thrust, Juliet looked back up at Shawn, who was breathing slowly and evenly. “Okay?” she asked softly, and he nodded. She gave him another smile, said, “I'll hear you now,” and then shoved almost all of her cock inside him with one very hard thrust.

Shawn's back arched and he closed his eyes, a loud, harsh wheeze coming from him. “Ohmygod,” he panted, his voice sounding squeezed as Juliet pulled back and little and then slammed into him again. His hands pulled at the cuffs and his other leg went up, holding both in the air himself so that she could use one hand to steady the dildo and the other to loosely grip his knee to keep her balance. “Oh gah, guh, fuck, ffffuck, Jules, oh god, god fuck me,” he nearly raved. 

Juliet grinned, highly pleased, and fucked him harder. Her hips jerked, pulling back fast and shoving it far into him, and she went on and on—not knowing what it felt like to be inside him when he was like this, not being on the verge of coming and ending it, she could, and Lassiter realized that that was part of the main attraction. He was getting hard again himself as he watched and listened, knowing that if it was him who had Shawn like this it there was no way he'd be able to hold the pace for as long as she could, as she was restrained only by the physical exhaustion of this position, of the speed and hard, hard thrusts. Shawn tossed his head back and forth, moaning and whimpering and now begging, begging for it harder and for more and then, finally, for permission to come. 

“Please,” Shawn was saying, his voice nothing but breath, his hands into tights fists and his cock bouncing as she continued to rail him. “Please, please Jules, oh please.”

“No.”

“Pleeeease,” he whined, lifting his legs up more, causing her to push the dildo inside him harder, and he squeezed his eyes shut.

“No, Shawn.”

“Ohmygod,” he whimpered. His eyelids started to flutter and his heels dug into her back, urging her forward harder.

Juliet let go of the dildo so that she could push more of it into him, putting both hands to either side of him and rocking her hips in quick jerks, but not pulling out for enough so that she would pop out of him. “No,” she said again, now panting herself. “Don't come. No, Shawn. No.”

“Please, please, please, please,” he begged, his arms now pulling against the cuffs so hard that there would be huge red marks on his wrists for at least the rest of the night.

“Don't... you... dare.” She punctuated each word with a hard thrust. “Don't you come. No. Don't fucking do it, Shawn.”

“Oh, oh, oh, fuck, please, please Jules, please... come...”

She put her hands on his shoulders, for a little more leverage and so that she could be a little more upright, and continued to fuck him. “I said no.”

“Please, please, I need to come,” he whined.

“I can stop you.” She paused, thrust hard, paused, thrust hard again. His legs tried to pull her closer again, harder, and when her back didn't relent, he moved his feet down to her ass and pulled, trying to make the strapped-on cock sink into his ass again. She let him, started fucking him again, watching his face and moving one hand down to the inside of one of his thighs. Shawn was panting again, using the cuffs to pull himself up by his arms so that he could thrust back at her, and when she shoved the entire dildo into him and wiggled her hips so that she rocked it, rocked him, his eyes popped open, but they were unfocused. 

“Oh, guh, gaaah, mmm, fuck, fuck, ohmygodI'mgonnacome,” he said, the last all in one whoosh of air, his eyes rolling up again. 

“Oh, dear,” Juliet said mildly. “But I told you no.”

“Stop me!” he begged.

“Really?” She shoved her dick into him again. “I should do that?”

“Pleasepleasestopme yousaidnobutIcan't—“

Juliet moved the hand that was on his thigh underneath his dick and she squeezed his balls a damn hard one—he stopped rocking almost at once, his back arching off the bed, his eyes huge, his mouth open but no sound coming out. With her other hand she pinched and twisted one of his nipples as well. She held onto him for a long moment, until he met her eyes and started to tremble again, and then she held still while he lay back, gasping.

Juliet leaned over him again, but this time not moving her hips. She kissed his cheek and then his mouth, nuzzled his neck, trailed light kisses over his collarbone and to his nipples. She got a little more upright, looked at Shawn to make sure he was watching her, and then she traced her lips with a fingertip before poking it into her mouth and running her tongue over it. He let out a low breath that was partly a moan, and she smiled. “Okay, Shawn?” He nodded and raised his legs up again, and then he closed his eyes and started moaning again when she continued fucking him. 

“Mmm... ungh... oh god,” he mumbled. “Still no?”

“Still no,” she agreed.

“I didn't... I didn't get seven...”

“No, sweetheart, but you sure tested me with your six.” She sped up her thrusts again, now using her hands to hold his legs up so that she could fuck him harder. “Is this good?”

“Yes,” he breathed.

“Is it really good? Are you gonna come?”

He whimpered. “No.”

“Really? Not even if I...” She scooted closer so that the whole dildo would be inside him, pushing his legs up by the backs of his knees, and his eyes rolled back again when she started letting him down and then pushing him back up, his ass sliding up and down on her cock. “Do this?”

“...gah...” he managed. 

Lassiter had been watching them so intently that he'd nearly forgotten himself—as in, a person with a fixed point in the world—but when he saw that he moaned a little himself, wanting so badly to fuck Shawn that he almost, almost said so. Shawn's asshole would be wet and open and hot, and with the state he was in, his lips swollen and his face flushed, his eyes hazed over and his wrists in those damn cuffs, Lassiter knew there would be no way in hell he'd be able to stop himself from just railing him until Shawn nearly screamed when he came, his body clenching and shaking and f—fuck. No, not this time, this was her time. But oh Jesus. Christ.

Juliet was panting now—she was strong, but couldn't keep that up for long. She let go of his legs and he wrapped them around her again; she leaned forward over him, moving the dildo very slowly back and forth, and kissed him again. “You love this,” she said.

“Love it,” he agreed at once, his voice more breath than words. “Love you. I can't... mmm, yeah... fuck me harder, harder please?”

“Okay, I will—get ready, Shawn, I'm going to give it to you. And don't... you... come.”

He let his head fall back for just a moment while she braced herself again, her hands on the backs of his knees, holding his legs up and giving her something to hold onto as she started laying it into him. He moaned, he gasped, he panted and whined and writhed, saying her name, saying yes and please and then nothing but syllables and sounds. 

Suddenly she pulled back, pulling the dildo out of him and collapsing back on the bed, gasping for breath. Shawn groaned and whimpered, looking up at her and nearly crying in frustration. His eyes darted to Lassiter very quickly, possibly considering begging him for relief (and Lassiter's eyes widened, just a little, his mind flashing back on what he was thinking a few minutes ago), but he said nothing, his chest heaving.

“Are you okay, Shawn?” Lassiter asked, his voice husky, and he cleared it. Shawn didn't look at him or speak, though he did gulp more air and nod once, and then he raised his head to look at Juliet, who was still lying on her back. “Are _you_ okay, Juliet?” Lassiter asked.

She smiled. “Yes. Just one second.” She took in a huge breath and let it out, and then her respiration was more or less steady. She stood up and began unbuckling the harness, ignoring Shawn's huge, begging eyes. Lassiter was on the verge of asking, with a pointed look, if she really planned to leave Shawn like that, when she bent down and picked up the prostate toy that was on the floor. She wiped it off with her shirt, and then she got back on the bed, kneeling between Shawn's legs. “Up,” she said, and he threw his legs in the air so quickly he might have kicked her in the jaw if she'd been just a little closer. She wiggled it into him, slowly pushing until it started to slip in by itself, and Shawn made a keening sound as it slid home, into his prostate, that made Lassiter's cock throb again painfully. If she wasn't going to let Shawn come soon, he was going to be ready to beg her to allow him to stick two fingers up his ass and suck his cock. 

“Good,” Juliet murmured. “Good boy. Good Shawn. Look at me.” When he did, his face red and his lips trembling, she smiled. “Go ahead now—you can come,” she said, and sat back. 

Shawn immediately threw his head back into the mattress, moaning and writhing. He jerked his hips up and down, seeming to try to use the bed and the angle to push the toy against his prostate harder. “Fuck,” he panted. “Oh my god. Oh my god. Ungh, Jules, you fucked me so good, oh god. I love your cock, I love it.” His fevered eyes flicked over again, over both of them, and he stilled for just a moment to catch his breath, his dick so hard it looked painful. Lassiter knew that feeling. And Shawn knew he knew it. He closed his eyes and jerked his hips again, just a little. “Jules,” he breathed. “Can I suck Lassie's dick?” he asked, and Lassiter's eyebrows went up. Yeah, Shawn sucking him off with that thing in his ass, making him jerk and twitch, would be jim fucking dandy. “Please?” Shawn went on. “I really, really want his dick, I want his come in my mouth. Oh god I am going to come so hard.”

“After,” she said. “Go on, I'm waiting.”

“Ohfuckyeah,” Shawn muttered. He bit his lip and started to writhe again, slamming his ass down on the bed harder and harder. “Fuck. Oh. Oh fuck. Fuck yeah.” His eyes slid over to Lassiter again and he licked his lips. “Mmm, Lassie,” he said. “I'm imagining you fucking me. Ungh, god, yes. Oh, oh, oh.” He tore his eyes away from Lassiter's huge eyes and focused back on Juliet, who was watching with a little smile. “Jules, Juliet so good. Fuck me, fuck me, ohhhhmygod I love you.” He thrust his cock into the air and his ass into the mattress, pulling at the cuffs, his breath coming in shorter, harsher gasps, and then his face changed and everyone knew it was finally over for him. “OhmygodI'mgonnacome,” he panted. “Ohgod ohgod fuckme fuckme—“

“Do it, Shawn,” Juliet said, her voice soft and high. “I fucked you, now come for me.”

Shawn came, his head rising off the bed and his legs straightening out so that he could angle his ass against the bed and rock his entire lower half while his cock spurted a stream of semen toward his chest in three huge spasms. He fell back, and when his lungs unlocked and he tried to breathe, he at first went bright red with his inability to draw in air. Lassiter was almost worried for a moment, and he saw Juliet stir out of the corner of his eye, but then Shawn was breathing, muttering, still tossing his head from side to side, his chest and stomach heaving. 

After a minute or so, his mutters became words. “Lassie,” he was saying. “Lassie.”

“What?”

Shawn opened his eyes at last and licked his lips at him. “Blowjob,” he said, still panting. “Now.”

Lassiter looked at Juliet. “You have keys for those?”

“Yes, but he doesn't get to get up yet,” she said.

“Why not?”

She gave him a cool look. “Because I said.”

He blinked. “Okay. Well... how—?”

“Climb over him and fuck his mouth,” she said simply.

It was surprisingly easy, especially with how eager Shawn was. Lassiter knelt with his knees almost socked into Shawn's armpits, one hand on the back of the headboard and one hand under Shawn's neck to help him. Shawn swallowed his cock immediately, and Lassiter closed his eyes, starting to slowly push his dick further and further into Shawn's mouth, into his throat. Shawn took all of it that he could at this angle and then he sucked hard, moving his neck faster, making little whimpery noises that weren't hurt, but wanting. Lassiter looked back over his shoulder at Juliet, and when he saw her pleased smile, he followed her gaze to Shawn's dick, which was half hard again—the toy was still inside him, still rubbing at him, and getting his mouth fucked was riling him up all over again. He was going so hard and fast that he was going to pull a muscle in his neck, so Lassiter helped him by letting his head down, then holding his head still when he tried to move up again. He positioned a little better so that he could carefully thrust into Shawn's mouth, faster but more shallowly so that he wouldn't choke. He touched the hard metal of the handcuffs around his wrists and grunted, and when Shawn sucked hard again, his eyes looking up at him, he started to pant himself, knowing it wasn't going to be very much longer.

Shawn squirmed underneath him as his tongue moved and his lips dragged up and down, his eyes open now, wide and bright, wanting more. Lassiter bent his back down far enough so that he could entwine his fingers with Shawn's and then kiss the divots in his wrists, and when Shawn gripped his hands hard and sucked harder, he came. Shawn was in a bad position for a load of come in his throat and he started to choke, his face going red again; Lassiter jumped back and had an arm around his torso immediately, hauling him up and holding him in his arms so that he could breathe, although his arms were bent very awkwardly behind him. He could hear Juliet getting the keys, and then she was there, unlocking one cuff as Shawn gasped. As she undid the other lock, Lassiter shifted Shawn a little so that he was more upright, and then he became very alarmed when Shawn cried out harshly, almost painfully, jerking on the bed. He glanced down in time to see that he was coming again, and realized the angle must have pushed the toy against him just right again. Shawn trembled and twitched for a good thirty seconds, Lassiter holding him tightly and Juliet on his other side, her arms also going around him as she kissed the side of his face.

Shawn was still trembling when he managed, “...out. Out please. Guh. God. It's still—ungh.”

“Lay him back down a little,” Juliet said, and Lassiter did, enough so that she could pull the toy out of Shawn and he could heave a huge, long breath that left him so utterly spent and exhausted that he just laid in Lassiter's arms, closing his eyes and nuzzling into his neck. Juliet took the toy into the bathroom and ran water to clean it off.

“Lassie,” Shawn sighed, barely audible.

“Hmm?”

“Awesome,” he said. “Told you. What she does to me.”

“That... was intense,” he said slowly as Juliet came back in. 

She smiled and curled against Shawn's other side, putting both arms around him again. “I love you,” she said in his ear. He smiled but didn't open his eyes. Juliet looked up at Lassiter. “I've got him,” she said. “Can you please go run him a bath? We can shower later, but if he doesn't get cleaned up now he'll just go to sleep like this.”

“Sure.” He carefully moved Shawn more into Juliet's arms so that he could stand up.

“Lassie...” Shawn sighed again, his eyes still closed.

“Yes?”

“You forget my Mr. Bubble and I'll never let you fuck my mouth again.”

Lassiter snorted, amused. “You don't mean that.”

Shawn tilted his head slightly and cracked his eyelids open at Juliet. “He thinks I'm not serious about my bubbles,” he said.

“I think you're not serious about never letting me do that again.”

Juliet chuckled. “He's not,” she said, and then paused. “But I still wouldn't forget the bubbles. They make him feel like he's in a tub of frothy milkshake.” Lassiter raised an eyebrow at this and she shrugged. 

He turned to go into the bathroom and start the water, turning the taps to the right temperature and closing the drain, locating the bright pink jug of sud-maker on a bottom shelf next to some of Juliet's bath salts. He poured a generous quantity of it in, deciding that Shawn should be able to go ahead and enjoy himself even if it meant bathing like a three-year-old, because Shawn was amazing, and the reason he almost always got his way was because he almost always deserved it, and they loved him. He went back into the bedroom to help Shawn to the tub, as his legs were still a little weak from how strained he'd gotten before the end, and as he helped him ease down into the bubbles, using one finger under his chin to gently tip his face up so that he could kiss him, Shawn smiled, and Lassiter wondered how soon it would be before Shawn was ready to be so completely submissive like that again. He kind of hoped it would be his turn to dominate him next.


	3. Feather Bluster

  
**NOVEMBER 2009**

_You tell me that you've heard every sound there is_  
_And your bird can swing, but you can't hear me_  
_You can't hear me_  
—The Beatles, “[And Your Bird Can Sing](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iC6D2N4nylg)”

  
Shawn sat at his desk in the Psych office, watching the big window with interest as Gus parked the Blueberry and came toward the door. He glanced at their new mascot, who was sitting calmly, and tried to decide which piece of information he should give his partner first—the 'it bites' part, or the 'it might be evil' part.

Gus came into the inner office at eight-thirty on the dot, looking as smooth and dapper as he always did. “Good morning, Shawn. You're certainly here early.”

Excellent, he was in a good mood. “Indeed I am,” Shawn said. “Gus. Lush Gus. Gusty Winkerbean. Have I recently breached the idea of having a mascot?”

Gus froze in the act of putting his briefcase down, and then he gave Shawn an impatient look over his shoulder. “Shawn, I told you: I don't care if they can sense earthquakes, we are _not_ getting a bat.”

“But then when the police need me they can just use the Batsignal. They already shot down my idea of a new sky silhouette of me with my hand to my forehead. Bats are psychic, Gus—they're blind and yet they still find their way to bug buffet.”

“Bats are not blind, and the senses they use are called echolocation—it's high-frequency sonar that we can't hear.” Gus rolled his eyes and sat behind his desk.

“I'm hearing you,” Shawn said. “No bats.” He paused. “Still on the subject of the mascot, though...” He tilted his head toward the corner, and when Gus's eyes finally fell on the large cage and he nearly jumped out of his chair in surprise, Shawn grinned. “What do you think? I say he's already flying my colors.”

“Is that a scarlet macaw?!” Gus was across the room in seconds, stopping just short of the tall cage and leaning down a little, getting eye-level with the nearly-rainbow parrot, who tilted its head at him. “Pretty bird, pretty bird,” Gus cooed softly. “Where did it come from, Shawn?”

“An egg, I think.”

Gus gave him a look over his shoulder again. “ _Where_ , not _from what_.”

“South America, probably?”

“Shawn! Where did _you_ get it?”

“Um... I didn't. It was kind of... here.” He put a hand up as Gus turned to give him yet another impatient glare. “I swear. Lassie got called in today really early even though it's supposed to be his day off, and he woke me and Jules both up when he got out of bed. Neither of us could go back to sleep, so she just went to the PD too, and I came here. This little guy was sitting inside the door, there.” He motioned to the outside door. “And it was still locked, too. So I just brought him inside and set him over there—and let me tell you, he was not at all happy with the displacement.” He held out his other hand and showed Gus his finger, which he'd had to wrap with four Iron Man Band-Aids to stop the bleeding. “So I wouldn't get any closer than that. And there was an old card and a note...” He moved yesterday's mail he'd brought in when he'd arrived, looking for the envelope that had been under the birdcage. “Yeah. Here. _Don't_ let this change your mind about how delightfully pretty that bird is.”

Gus walked over to Shawn's desk and took the card and sheet of notebook paper out of the envelope, frowning. “'Whoso take possession of this bird be next in line to lose his head, his heart, and his home.'” Gus looked up doubtfully. “What, was it written by a pirate? I guess they do characteristically have parrots.”

“I was thinking the same dude who put Excalibur in the stone pedestal,” Shawn said. “Remember? _Whoso pulleth out this sword_...”

“Uh huh.” Gus looked back down to the rest of the lines on the card while Shawn brandished an imaginary sword around his head, making awesome light saber noises. “'One single word will be your flaw, then you'll hear the danger caw.' Why does that part rhyme and the first part doesn't?”

“Maybe it was by accident,” Shawn suggested.

“Doubtful,” Gus said. “Most people wouldn't associate 'caw' with parrots—that's more like crows.” He looked at the sheet of paper and raised his eyebrows, glancing at Shawn again. “'Please, psychic, take this evil spirit and don't let its disguise fool you, though you can probably see it for what it truly is. It came into my grandparents' possession when one of their friends unexpectedly passed, and after reading its cursed note they both suffered fatal heart attacks. Only one who can see beyond this plane of existence can truly banish the evil within. Do not try to find me.'” Gus finished reading and gave the bird in the cage a suspicious look. “Have you heard it make any noise, Shawn?”

“Not really—it squawked a little when I first picked up the cage.” He got up from his chair and came close enough to bend down next to Gus. The parrot looked back at both of them brightly, tilting its head a little. “You got a name?” Shawn asked it. “I actually hope it's not Polly—Nirvana ruined that name for me with their super-creepy torture song.” He took the sheet of paper from Gus, who gladly handed it over, and read it over again. “So, someone's grandparents wound up with this thing and it apparently parroted at them so hard they kicked the bucket? I'm really not sure where to even start with that. Can we just keep it? It does brighten up the room.”

“I don't know, Shawn. Maybe we should donate it to the zoo... unless people don't want their children to end up dead.”

As soon as Gus finished speaking, the parrot suddenly opened its beak and let loose a loud shriek that caused both Shawn and Gus to leap back from the cage, clutching each others' arms. “I don't like it!” Gus said, nearly panicking. “Get rid of it, Shawn!”

“Maybe it just doesn't like the idea of being adopted? Or the zoo?” Shawn glanced down at the card still in Gus's hand. “Or _children_? Hmm... _dead_?” Again, the bird screamed, this time raising its head to achieve maximum ear-shattering levels. Gus clapped both hands over his ears and whimpered, and Shawn elbowed him. “Dude, would you just relax? Someone obviously taught it to do that—you know, like how you can _teach parrots things_? It's going to do that every time it hears the word—”

Gus slammed a hand over Shawn's mouth _really_ hard. “No! Don't you dare!”

Unable to shout “Ow!” or any of its variations, Shawn put his palm over Gus's face and shoved him away. He licked at his lips, thinking that he might actually taste blood, and when he saw Gus glaring at him, he rolled his eyes. “Dead!”

Five minutes later, as they'd settled a truce and the bird was calm again, Shawn glanced to the bottom of the cage and tilted his head, bending down to get a closer look. “Gus, I think this cage has a false bottom.”

“I think that's what they use for the droppings, Shawn. But if you want to stick your hand in there, be my guest.”

“I will not be your guest—your service will never pass my test.” He gestured to the top of the cage. “Lift this up so I can look underneath it.”

“So it can bite me, too?”

“Gus, don't be the sale price on generic clam juice!”

“Fine!”

Gus had to get on top of his desk in order to gingerly pick up the cage high enough for Shawn to look underneath it; when he started to lift it, the parrot shuffled its wings, and Gus froze. When it was clear he wasn't lifting it any higher, Shawn rolled his eyes again and dropped to the ground, studying the underside. “Yeah, there's something... hang on...” He scooted back out and went to his desk, shooting Gus a look as he set the cage back down. “I wasn't done!”

“It's heavy!”

“Heavy with _evil_?” Shawn scoffed, straightening a couple of paper clips. “Okay, hold it up again.”

“No way, you hold it up.” Gus hopped down and held his hand out. “I'm way better at disengaging any sort of lock than you'll ever be.”

“Right, which one of us broke into a Steelson briefcase last summer?”

“You didn't break into it, you figured out the combination because you knew the owner—that's irrelevant, Shawn. _You_ lift up the stupid bird.” Gus dropped to his knees and centered the long metal sticks in his hands, and Shawn sighed and climbed up on Gus's desk, standing on a magazine as he leaned down and picked up the cage, raising it as high as he could.

“You're not a stupid bird,” he said in a low, soothing voice, looking down at it. “Just because you're pretty doesn't mean you're flat in the smarts department. No name, huh? How about Captain Cooface? Featherbutt McGee? Grandpa Macaw?”

There was a clicking sound, and Gus grunted. “There. I got—whoa!”

“What?”

“Oh my gosh!” Gus backed out from under the cage, his eyes wide, and showed Shawn a handful of jewelry—lots of gold, some bright reds and blues, but mostly diamonds.

“We're _so_ keeping this parrot, Gus.”

“I think not. Hold it up higher, just a second.” 

Shawn sighed and obeyed, his arms starting to ache from the awkwardness of the big cage while Gus carefully removed everything that had been stored under the floor of newspaper. “Done?”

“I think so,” Gus said, staring at the small pile he'd scraped out.

Shawn set the cage down gently, removing his hands from the top of it quickly when the parrot turned its head toward him. “Hi,” he said.

“Hi,” the parrot said.

Shawn blinked, and then grinned hugely. “Oh, awesome, it _can_ say other things than the evil scream. I don't suppose you know who stole all of this crap? No? ...hi.”

“Hi.”

“Is that all you say?”

“It probably knows a certain few calls and responses,” Gus said. “Pretty bird? Who's a pretty bird? Are you a pretty bird?” He waited, but the parrot only looked at him. “Hi?”

“Hi.”

“Goodbye,” Shawn said. “Bye, bye, birdie.” Nothing. “It's probably trying to train us to only use its favorite words.” He bent down to the pile of jewelry and sifted through it.

“Shawn, stop getting your fingerprints on that!”

“What, like you didn't thirty seconds ago?”

“We should take this to the police.”

“I want to know how two old people had heart attacks after getting this thing and then were robbed. Or were robbed and then dropped, whatever.” Shawn frowned. “Maybe Jules can help us get the autopsy reports for any old people that have bought expansive farmland recently and who are also missing shinies.”

“Chief Vick says you're not supposed to work with her,” Gus reminded him.

He shrugged. “Okay, let's go ask Lassie. If we bring it to him, he'll probably get point on the case, too.” His stomach rumbled and he glanced at the clock on the wall. “After breakfast, though, buddy. Whatever this is will still be ripe after some pancakes.”

While Gus ran out for some IHOP to go, Shawn tried to look up anything he could find on deaths in the area cross-referenced with parrots, but he came up with nothing. Also zilch on any Google-fu involving the words on the card. He was pretty sure it was supposed to seem like it was really old, but the texture reminded him of what had happened to a postcard that had been in his pocket one summer at camp when he'd accidentally fallen into the lake, not something that was decades or even years old. Gus came back with their food and while they ate, Shawn tried various words to see if they caused any other reactions with their new friend and Gus looked up information on the specific type of parrot it was. 

“The scarlet macaw,” Gus said, “comes from South America, primarily Peru, Venezuela, Bolivia, and Brazil. It eats fruit, nuts, and seeds, and can live to be upwards of fifty years old.”

“Fifty?” Shawn was impressed. “That's probably older than I'll end up being.”

“Don't talk like that. The females lay two or three eggs at a time, and it can take five years for the young to be of breeding age. They also mate for life.” Gus frowned at his screen, glanced up at the cage, and looked surprised. “Shawn, that cage is about four sizes too small for that kind of bird. Look at this.” He turned his laptop around. 

“No wonder he's in a bad mood—he can probably hardly move.” Shawn stood up. “Do you think if I open the door, he'll come out?”

“Don't you dare!” 

“Gus, he needs to stretch his wings!”

“Don't play, Shawn!” Gus glared at him again, and then he got up from his desk and went through the lobby to the front door as the letter slot clicked and the carrier dropped a few envelopes on the floor.

Shawn rolled his eyes. “Sorry,” he told the parrot. “I tried.” He gathered his breakfast containers and dropped them into the small trash bin by his desk, but it was so full already that the pancake box bounced off the plastic smoothie cup from yesterday and landed on the floor. He glanced at Gus, who was shuffling through the mail, trying to decide how likely it was that he could just leave everything and Gus would get it later. He tried to smash everything in the bin down as far as he could, to make room for the syrupy box, before remembering that he'd already done that yesterday, and then he just sighed and picked up the bin to go empty it in the larger can near the back door. He felt moderately proud of himself while trying to shake a KitKat wrapper loose; he was nearly thirty-one, after all. Just look at him, taking care of his own trash, and without a peep from the office's other occupant. Maybe he really was growing up.

“Empty room, Andy,” the parrot said. “All gone.”

Shawn turned around fast, nearly dropping his bin. He rushed back into the main room and stared at the bird. “What did you say?” he demanded.

“Hi,” the parrot said.

“Hi,” he replied, and then shook his head. “No, I don't answer to you!” He saw Gus come into the other doorway, looking confused, and he waved at him. “Go back by the door,” he said.

“Why?”

“You didn't hear that? Just go! And listen.” He waited until Gus was out of sight, and then he ducked around the corner. It was completely silent for almost a full minute, and he let out the breath he was holding, disappointed but not deterred—he knew what he'd heard. He decided to give it just a little longer, not only to see if the parrot could still hear him, or Gus, but also to see how long Gus would put up with being banished to the lobby.

Another minute crawled by, and then—“All gone, Andy,” said a parrot-voice. “All gone.”

“Ha!” Shawn shouted in triumph, and came back into the room. 

“I heard _that_ ,” Gus said. “What's it mean?”

“It means...” Shawn frowned at the bird, who looked back at him brightly, totally not offended that it had been tricked. “Well, whoever trained it is called Andy,” he said slowly. “That's probably whoever stole the jewelry. He—or she, I guess—taught it to call out when a room was clear so they'd know when they could come in. I bet the whole thing is a scam—'here, have a random parrot, it's red and pretty' and 'gosh Charles where did my tennis bracelet go'.” He went over to the cage and looked for a transmitter, but he couldn't find one. “Huh. I wonder if the old people surprised the burglar in stealing the jewelry, so whoever it was stashed the goods in the cage and bolted. I bet they meant to get it later, but whoever brought it to us really thought poor Parrotcake here killed their grandparents.”

Gus looked skeptical, and he glanced back and forth between the pile of jewelry still on the floor, the bird in the cage, and Shawn, before rolling his eyes finally. “Five bucks says you're going to end up being right about this,” he sighed. “The stupider your guesses are, the stupider people turn out to be.”

“I'm supposed to bet against myself?” Shawn snorted. “Okay, then I also predict that I will one day be the reigning world champion of Red Rover and that Hammer pants are going to make a comeback this year.”

“About the _case_ , Shawn. And how am I supposed to win or lose a bet that begins, 'one day'? You can't know until there are no more days.”

“Okay, okay, so if you outlive me, and I'm not the Red Rover Champion, you need to bury five bucks at my grave. Don't be startled if my hand pops up to grab it—zombies need piping hot churros sometimes too.”

Gus sighed. “Call Lassiter, if you're going to—we need to not have these stolen goods _or_ this creepy parrot in our office.”

“Fine. You find out if there's any way we can figure out what else Nerdy Birdie knows, other than 'Andy'.”

“There's a bird trainer lecturing at the zoo this week,” Gus said. “I'll try to see if we can get in to see her.”

An hour later, Shawn and Gus arrived at the next stop on their Lassie-hunt; neither had gotten through to their quarries on the phone, Gus rebuffed at the trainer's assistant's outright refusal as soon as he heard the word 'psychic' and Shawn simply getting Lassiter's voice mail repeatedly. He'd called Jules in hopes she could either find him or knew where he was, and she'd told him Lassiter had gotten into an argument with Head Detective Gates and had just left, being told that if he wasn't going to solve a case he wasn't worth calling in.

“Which _totally_ wasn't fair, because he wasn't supposed to have to be here today anyway,” Juliet had said, sounding annoyed. “I can't say anything, though.”

“I could say things,” Shawn offered, feeling annoyed himself. “Things like, 'Hey, Gus, how do you feel about eighteen Bomb Pops?'”

“No, Shawn. I'm serious—and we'll know who it was this time. What do you need Carlton for?”

“Maybe a case thing—don't worry, it's not life or death.” As long as the parrot wasn't actually evil, that was, and Shawn doubted something that pretty that could say 'hi' so cheerfully could be evil. That had to be true... right?

Lassie hadn't been at the tiny apartment that was supposed to be where he lived, so Gus warily followed Shawn into the apartment that he shared with Jules (and, most nights, Lassie). The kitchen and living room were empty, except for Siddy, who was sleeping in a basket of Juliet's laundry. 

“Maaaaybe he's in the bedroom,” Shawn said, and quirked his eyebrows. “Be vewy vewy quiet—“

“No, Shawn, we have work to do.” Gus raised his voice. “Lassiter? Are you here?”

“Yes,” came his voice from the bedroom.

“Are you decent?”

“Feel free to answer philosophically,” Shawn called.

“How is the state of one's dress a philosophical matter?” Gus asked.

Shawn had, of course, been referring to Lassie's personal state of decency, but Gus had brought this on himself. “Nakedness is the highest music, buddy. Plato said that.”

“That's not what he said, he said that _philosophy_ —”

“Right, the philosophy of a naked Lassie.”

“Oh, Jesus Christ, I'm not naked!” Lassiter shouted.

Gus rolled his eyes and headed for the bedroom, where he peeked around the corner of the open doorway before taking a single step into the room, and Shawn followed. “You're going to wrinkle that suit,” Gus said.

Lassiter was splayed out on his back across the huge bed, completely dressed, shoes still on, his hands behind his head as he stared at the ceiling. “I pay good money for the cleaners' to remove them, and right now I could care less.”

Gus made a face—the improper phrasing of expressions like that one, and using words that didn't make sense, like 'irregardless', were some of his biggest pet peeves (which was why Shawn had insisted for a good week a few months ago that he'd heard 'for all intensive purposes' on TV)—but he apparently decided to let it go. Shawn pushed past Gus, flopped on the bed next to Lassie, and propped up his head with a bent elbow. “Is it naptime already?” he asked. “Did you get your snack? Are there snacks? I didn't get one.”

“I'm not napping, Shawn.”

“What are you doing, then?” Gus asked.

Lassiter closed his eyes. “Lying down,” he said. “Thinking.”

“Breathing,” Shawn added, to be helpful. “Digesting, exfoliating, growing out your toenails. I wonder if you can spare any time out of this jam-packed morning to help us with a case?”

Lassiter opened his eyes and craned his neck up a little. “You want _my_ help?” He considered. “For a real case, or one of your stupid 'is my ghost dinosaur boyfriend cheating on me' cases?”

Shawn gave him a look. “Lassie, come on, be real. Who would date a dead dinosaur?”

“All dinosaurs are dead,” Gus said.

Shawn pointed at him. “That's never been proven.” Then he looked back down at Lassiter. “And hey, our cases are real too. Just because this one has to do with an evil parrot is no reason not to take it seriously.”

Lassiter groaned and pulled a pillow over his face. “Why don't you two go play and leave me to my grown-up problems.”

“What problems? Do you need a hug?” Shawn lowered his voice. “Do you need a grown-up hug?”

Near the doorway, Gus rolled his eyes, but Lassie didn't move. “No,” he said, slightly muffled. “I need to figure out how someone managed to rob a jewelry store when no alarms were set off and there's no video footage of a break-in, I need to get a set of identical twins to turn against each other when they come in for interview tomorrow morning, and I need Gates off my back about a subject I arrested for poisoning his wife jumping bail and disappearing. _I_ had the lowlife placed under surveillance while I was trying to ascertain which twin actually assaulted a business rival and which was at a party establishing an alibi; it's not _my_ fault he rabbited. But it _is_ my fault and my problem.”

“I could help with the twins,” Shawn suggested. “I'm sure there's something I'd be able to pick up on.”

“No,” he said again. “I have to get at least _something_ right this week. If that still remains within the realm of possibility for me.”

Shawn patted his hand. “Aw, Lassie, don't be a sad tomato.”

Lassiter pushed the pillow off his face far enough to squint at him. “Well, I'm certainly not going to be your crush with eyeliner,” he said after a moment.

Shawn looked at him in surprise. “You like R.E.M.?”

Lassie shrugged. “They were poplar when I was in college.” 

“Gus, it's finally happened—Lassie likes something cool.”

“Finally,” Gus agreed. “He was holding up that uncool streak really well when he started liking you.”

“Hey!”

Lassiter sighed again and then tossed the pillow back toward the headboard. “What do you need my help with that has to do with an _evil parrot_?”

“I want to talk to a bird trainer that's consulting at the Santa Barbara zoo this week,” Shawn said. “We tried to get an appointment, because Gus lives there part-time and he figured he'd see her during hot cocoa hour—”

“I have an _individual plus_ membership,” Gus corrected. “Which is good for you, since you didn't have to pay to go with me. Like you would have anyway.”

“Oh, quit crying about that, I snuck in _once_ , and it was the last day for Boo at the Zoo! I was supposed to miss the _goblin games_? What kind of monster are you?”

“You were cheating the zoo out of money used to take care of the animals!” Gus retorted. “Keep it up, Shawn, and I won't take you with me to the Snow Leopard Festival.”

Lassiter sat up suddenly, glaring at them both in turn. “Guys. I can't believe I'm saying this, but _what about the parrot_.”

“Right, Dr. Makenzy Acosta,” Shawn said, turning to lie on his back and folding his hands over his stomach. “No appointment, because her assistant was behaving like a girl's front-wedgie and wouldn't even listen to Gus.” He paused. “Also... there might be a giant pile of stolen jewelry in our office?”

“There _might_ be?”

“The jewelry is definitely there,” Gus said. “It's the 'stolen' part we're not sure about. That and the parrot's true status between good and evil.”

“It's not evil,” Shawn assured Lassie. “It just screams evilly if you say the word 'dead', and it announces to the ghosts in the room when they're alone.”

“It might have killed some old people!” Gus insisted. “And it came with a creepy warning card.”

Lassiter flopped back down on the bed and covered his face with Juliet's pillow again. “I don't need this today.”

Shawn considered him for a moment, and then he pointed toward the hall. “Gus, leave the room.”

“Why?”

Shawn shrugged. “Fine, don't. But take a look and where you are, and at where Lassie and I are, and have a guess. You know I don't ever mind having an audience.”

Gus pointed back at him. “No, Shawn. We have work to do, remember? The case? The brightly-colored agent of darkness? Red is an evil color, you know.”

“No it isn't!”

“Yes, it is! Don't challenge me, because I know things! Things like how you can't afford to get distracted with—with _whatever it was_ you were thinking of doing.”

“Dude, know that you are getting your chocolate _all up_ in my peanut butter right now.”

Gus threw his hands into the air. “Fine! I'll see you back at the office, Shawn.”

“So you're going to go hang out with Darkwing Parrot by yourself?”

“No, I'm just going to stand around waiting while you do something inappropriate with your boyfriend.”

“It's not inappropriate, as a matter of fact, it's—”

“And Darkwing Duck was a masked vigilante that took down bad guys, he wasn't evil!”

“Fine, I'll call my new friend Flip,” Shawn said.

Gus paused. “Why?”

Shawn sighed. “You disappoint me, Gus. He's a _bird_. _Flip_ the _Bird_.”

“Oh. Either way, I'd rather be there than here if you're going to—I don't even know, but bye. I guess I'll go work on the case by myself.”

“He's not going to anything!” Lassiter said, tossing the pillow back again. “For crying out—I'll come look at the jewelry, at least.”

“Meet you outside in five minutes, buddy,” Shawn said. Gus stepped backwards into the hallway, did an about-face, and was gone.

“What are you going to do in five minutes?” Lassie asked. “Should I set a timer?”

“You and Gus are being so pervy today—I actually wasn't going to do _anything_. Well, this.” Shawn turned back on his side and snuggled up to him, laying his head on Lassie's shoulder and curling an arm over his stomach. “Jules told me what happened,” he said. “I promise not to do anything with Gates and Popsicle sticks, but just so you know, her feathers are ruffled and my panties are twisted.” He paused. “It might be the other way around—you'll have to check.”

“I don't need to check.” Lassiter sighed and put one arm around Shawn's shoulders, the other over his outstretched arm. “I know she doesn't have any feathers.”

“Oho, but I have panties? Do you want to see me in panties? Is that a challenge?” Shawn pulled back slightly. “You kinky bastard.”

“And that's not the pot calling the kettle black?”

Shawn grinned and laid his head back down; he stayed like he was for a moment, feeling Lassie stroke a patch of skin on his forearm with his thumb, and then he threw a leg over him and moved on top on him, leaning down to kiss him. “Gates is worse than a taxidermied taco and finding eleven missed calls from your mother,” he said softly. “Everyone that counts knows he's wrong.”

Lassiter shrugged. “Doesn't matter. He's the head detective now.”

“Does so matter, and if anything he's literally the head dick.”

“That means you're calling me a dick. And if that's the case, you're a dick too, fake-psychic or no.”

“Maybe, but we're the good kind.” Shawn grinned a little and kissed him again, grinding his hips against Lassie's. “I believe in you, and so does Jules, and if you want our help, you got it.”

“I know. I can do it.” He frowned. “I just need to get back in my groove.”

Shawn resisted at least twelve jokes because of how Lassie was feeling. “What would make you feel better right now?” he asked instead. “Anything.”

“Solving a case,” Lassiter said at once, just as Shawn thought the words in his head. “Any case.” He reached up and cupped Shawn's cheek for a few seconds, and then he pushed at Shawn's shoulder to indicate he should move.

“Really? That's it? I feel a little rebuffed.”

“You said right now, not later.” He raised both his hands and Shawn felt his fingertips graze his sides, under where his shirt hung down. 

“You can have seconds later, you know,” Shawn said in a low voice. “Gus can wait.”

Lassiter considered that. “Anything.”

“Absolutely. And I realize what sort of power I'm giving you here—try not to get an overinflated sense of self and attempt to make me clean the bathroom dressed like Dirty Harry.” He squinted and tried on a gravelly voice. “Do you feel yucky, gunk?”

Lassiter finally chuckled, and Shawn grinned, satisfied. “How about...” Lassie began slowly, his fingers trailing around Shawn's back and then pulling him closer. “Later—after we deal with whatever's going on with jewelry and a parrot—” He paused and shook his head briefly, though he didn't bother to comment on what was clearly ridiculous about that, which was the idea that Gus thought that the word wasn't 'bird', but 'evil'. “We do that thing where I sit on the couch... and you get on my lap.”

“Without pants.”

“I assumed that went without saying.”

Shawn grinned. “Deal. I'm going to be looking forward to that all day now.”

“I will too. Hey.” As Shawn moved to get off of him, Lassie put both hands on the back of his neck, pulled him down again, and kissed him. Shawn closed his eyes and sank into it, barely noticing his hips grinding down on Lassie's groin on their own. They kissed for a good long moment, maybe two, until Lassie finally moved his hands to the sides of Shawn's face and pulled him up a little; Shawn smiled again when he saw how hazy his eyes were, that he no longer looked pissed off and sullen. “I love you,” Lassie said softly.

Shawn felt his heart grow three sizes—Lassie would almost always say so if prompted, or if either Shawn or Jules said it to him first, but he didn't often tell Shawn that he loved him without any nudging. Shawn never doubted that he did; he showed it almost every day, with a smile at his stupid jokes, or a kiss before he left for work, or a touch (a hand on his arm or the back of his neck while they all crowded onto the couch to watch Supernatural or Criminal Minds, just resting on him or absently stroking a thumb over his skin), or the way he held onto him when they had sex. 

Shawn leaned down again and nuzzled his face into his boyfriend's neck, kissing him just under his jaw. “I love you too,” he breathed. “How much of that five minutes do you think I have left?”

“None.”

“Really? I must lose all sense of time in this position.”

Lassiter sighed and gave Shawn's shoulder a light push again. “Come on. Gus is waiting, and you have a case.”

“But I really, _really_ want to suck your dick.” Shawn snaked one hand down between them and loosely squeezed Lassie's dick, then rubbed his own over it again. “Just for a minute... don't be a withholding tax.”

Lassiter licked his lips, hesitated, and then shook his head. “Not now, Shawn. You'll get your dividend later.”

“With interest.”

“With one hundred percent interest,” Lassiter promised. “That's a great deal you won't find on any official loan—it would be illegal, for one.”

“Making me wait should be illegal.” Shawn stuck out his bottom lip and then reluctantly rolled off of him and onto his back, preparing to throw his leg over the side of the bed and onto the floor. 

Before he could, Lassie suddenly rolled over himself, and in what seemed like half a second he unbuckled Shawn's belt, yanked down the zipper of his jeans, reached into his shorts, pulled his cock out, and bent down, his long back bowing as he sucked him all the way down. Shawn gasped, his fingers twisting into the sheets as he tried to stay quiet and still, hoping for more. Lassie was teasing him harshly, not coming back up, staying down with Shawn's whole cock in his mouth and throat and _not moving_. Shawn couldn't help it when he whimpered and jerked his hips up, and then Lassie finally moved, very slowly backing up until his lips were at the head of Shawn's cock, and then going back down fast. Shawn's eyelids fluttered closed and he bit his lip, about half a second from moaning loudly, thrusting up again—and then the hot suction was gone, and his eyes popped open as he felt cooler air and nothing else on his dick. Shawn raised up on his elbows and gave Lassiter an indignant look as he stood at the end of the bed, fixing his tie and smoothing the arms of his jacket.

“You really expect me to concentrate on stolen jewelry and an evil parrot _now_?” Shawn demanded.

“Absolutely,” Lassiter said, and gave him a satisfied smirk. “You have a case to solve, _Detective_. The sooner you close it, the sooner I'll have your clothes off.”

“Dick!”

“Sure,” Lassie agreed. “It's a motivational tool.”

“You're a tool,” Shawn muttered, trying to tuck his own back into his pants. Lassie widened his smirk and left the bedroom; Shawn followed slowly, thinking, _baseball, football, calm blue ocean, Chip 'N Dale's Rescue Rangers, broccoli salad, he's gonna pay for this, dirty litter box, Oscar the Grouch's feet... ugh, okay, good—I can be seen in public. Lassie's assie is **so** paying for this._

.

As was his usual style, Shawn apparently called forth magical knowledge from the depths of the universe and solved the case with outlandish deductions and flailing, and he did it with enough time to still make the early bird special on chicken wings at Los Agaves. It was amazing what a little incentive could produce sometimes.

Lassiter stood nearby and shook his head while Shawn alternately touched his forehead and tried to grab onto Gus, shouting fresh-picked lunacy that came with pits of truth. The result of their meeting with the bird trainer, who did have a few tips on how to get the parrot talking, and of the autopsy report of the elderly couple to whom the jewelry had belonged, had netted them one devious sicko who had spent months stalking victims with heart conditions and scaring them literally to death with a carefully-trained parrot, an ominous threat of impending death, and a set of Freddy Krueger finger-knives. It was ridiculous, completely and utterly _ludicrous_ —and, really, the parrot wasn't even necessary! But it had done its job, which was partly to help creep out and frighten the targeted victims, partly to store stolen merchandise, and partly to throw off anyone that might investigate and be unable to fit it in. _Because it was ridiculous_. But, of course, Shawn Spencer was ridiculous. No one mastered the random and abstract like he did. 

“Who _are_ you?” Andrew Nesman cried in frustration after Shawn had called upon some spirits that were apparently hovering over the bird cage to help him explain the scumbag's entire plan. Lassiter rolled his eyes and cuffed him. 

Shawn grinned brilliantly. “I'm Shawn Spencer, head _psychic_ for the SBPD.” He gestured to the parrot. “And this is _my_ new wingman, Air Cadet flocksmith and channel eight featherman Bird Favre, or Flip the Bird.” He nodded to his partner, who had rolled his eyes again. “And that's Gus. He's just a flyboy.”

“Whatever, Shawn. You owe me five dollars.” Gus held out his hand.

“I don't have five dollars,” Shawn said as Lassiter stuck the suspect in his car and joined them. “Lassie, give Gus five bucks,” he ordered.

“What? Why should I?”

“I don't want his money,” Gus said. “I won the bet, _you_ pay up.”

“What bet?” Lassiter asked Gus, as Shawn made a show of pulling everything out of his pockets to display some lint, a piece of gum, a Jolly Rancher, a nickel, a pen, and a tiny plastic frog.

“I knew he was going to come up with something completely absurd, and then we would find out he was right,” Gus said. “I'm just finally banking on it.”

“I'll take a piece of that,” Lassiter said.

“I don't think I like this new custom,” Shawn said, re-pocketing his useless junk. “How about I pay you in parrot feathers? I recently discovered a source.”

“No, Shawn,” Gus said severely, giving the cage a suspicious look. “We're _not_ keeping it.”

“Come on, Gus! I learned so much from him, and I taught him so much in return. We have a very special bond.”

“You've been around that thing for nine hours,” Lassiter said.

“And you agreed to turn it over to Dr. Acosta,” Gus added. “I don't care what nonsense you taught it.”

Shawn turned to the cage quickly. “Pretty bird, pretty bird,” he cooed, waiting for it to look at him. “Holy Gus-fuss, Birdman!”

“Gus, don't be a stale cracker,” the parrot said. Gus narrowed his eyes and turned away without a word; as soon as he walked away, Shawn beamed at Lassiter and gave him a wink before following his friend. Lassiter headed for his car to take the suspect in, but he was smiling too.


	4. X-Mas Marks The Spot

**DECEMBER 2009**

  
Christmas found families together but a certain triad of Santa Barbara separated, as Juliet and Shawn went to her parents' house in Santa Maria for two days and Carlton went to San Francisco, where his mother and her partner had just moved. They had all been disappointed but recognized the awkwardness that would surely arise by being around each other's families, so they decided to save all of their gifts for each other until they were all back home and could have a special holiday dinner together.

Juliet had missed her family, having had almost no time with any of them the whole year; on Christmas Eve she sat with her mother in the kitchen, drinking wine and eating up stories of everything her cousins had going on in the past year and coming up in the year ahead. Shawn was in the living room with most of the kids, playing games and telling jokes, and when she looked back over her shoulder to smile at how pleased he looked when the kids cracked up at one of his ridiculous puns, she turned back to see her mother looking through the doorway as well.

“Something wrong?” she asked, recognizing the contemplative look her mother was wearing.

“Oh, no honey, not at all,” she said quickly.

“Mom...”

“Honestly,” she assured her. “I'm a little surprised, that's all.” When Juliet raised her eyebrows, she went on. “That you're still with him. Not to say I don't approve, because he seems very nice, and he loves you a lot. I can't say I didn't see you with someone a little more serious-minded, though.” Her mother shrugged as Shawn threw his arms in the air and crowed that he'd won something in the game. Two of her nephews booed at him and Shawn looked offended before taking up the cards and starting to do sleight of hand tricks with them.

Juliet nodded to Lloyd, who was playfully arguing with her youngest niece, insisting to her that his suit was grown from his skin and that it could burn in the sun and no one liked a red suit that wasn't on Santa. “Look who's talking, Mom.”

“Oh, I know,” her mother scoffed, waving a hand. “But he's an accountant, at least. Your Shawn is, what, a psychic?”

“His business is a private psychic detective agency,” Juliet agreed. “But he consults with the SBPD quite frequently.”

“Does he have any plans to move on in your relationship any time soon?”

She shrugged. “We've only been together for two years. We're good with how things are right now—we're not stagnated, we're... enjoying the cruise, checking out the scenery.”

“Any plans for... marriage, kids?”

“I do want children... but that's a 'one day' thing, Mom, way down the road.” Not to mention they were driving in the carpool lane. “We'll see how things go, but for now, we're happy the way we are.”

“Well, I guess you've always known your own mind,” her mother said. “If you love each other and you're happy with him, that's all that matters in the long run.” She patted her hand and got up to refill their drinks while Juliet looked back over her shoulder at Shawn again and smiled, thinking, _Happy, yes, but not **only** with him._

.

Lassiter sat at his mother's table, across from his sister and her husband, with his mother at one end and her life partner at the other. The spot next to him was empty, and they'd piled that corner of the table with some of the strange vegetarian dishes Lauren was plowing her way through at seven months pregnant. He knew the question was coming, and he'd attempted to put it off by pretending to be incredibly interested in Mike's new position in a film studio, and then with Lauren's progress decorating the nursery, and _then_ by suggesting ways to keep a vermin infestation from planting a foothold in the basement of their new home, but his glazed eyes and the empty chair next to him fooled no one.

“No one special in your life yet, Carlton?” Althea asked.

“I work a lot,” he said shortly. 

“I bet you meet a ton of interesting people,” Mike said.

Lassiter gave him an impatient look. “I never personally considered murderers and arsonists and people who commit assault and robbery viable dating candidates.”

“Murderers and arsonists are people too,” Lauren said, grinning at him and then sticking a forkful of something disgusting-looking in her mouth.

“That's not the sort of setting my heart afire I'm really looking for, kiddo.”

“My roommate the last year in college was an arson _artist_ —she did something with painting and fire that was really cool.” 

He snorted, thinking that Shawn would have adored that word. His mother was giving Lauren a disapproving look, and then she turned it on him. “We just worry about you, Booker. I don't like to think of you so alone since that Victoria broke your heart.”

He rolled his eyes at the ceiling, reminding himself that Juliet and Shawn were at her parents' house, and if he left and went back to Santa Barbara, he would be alone. He wasn't necessarily sure this was better, but if he could close down this topic and get everyone to move on, he wouldn't have to keep hedging or outright lying. 

“Whew,” Lauren said, leaning back in her chair and patting her straining abdomen. “Junior must really like your tofu casserole, Althea—I can't eat another bite, but he's jumping and jiving about it.”

Althea beamed. “You're welcome to take the rest of it home with you, sweetheart.”

“I sure as hell aren't going to eat it,” their mother said. Althea waved at her unconcernedly and told Lauren it was her pleasure to try making something so new to her.

“Did we tell you we've narrowed it down to two names?” Mike asked brightly. 

Lassiter looked back down at his plate and commenced eating ( _not_ tofu) while the others talked about baby names and various other baby things, not having much to contribute to that part of the conversation. He was completely satisfied with his romantic situation—happy, in fact, content with the way he and Juliet and Shawn all fit together—and he was a little surprised to find that he wasn't feeling at all envious or competitive over his younger sister's impending child. It was true that he'd always wanted children, and that he was getting older, but things didn't always go the way one thought they might—two years ago, he didn't even have Juliet and Shawn. Two years ago he'd been unhappy and lonely, one year ago he was unhappy and lonely except when the couple he occasionally slept with visited; this year he was with a woman who could run with him step-for-step at work and reach into him and pull out his breath when they were in bed, and a man who could look at nothing and see everything, who could make him laugh when he was pissed off, who had actually talked him into sharing a bubble bath and playing word games to relax him at three o'clock in the morning when a case had taken over his mind. If being with them—staying with them—was one of the optional paths his life had given him, then regardless of where it led or how many standard stops were on it, he would follow it.

He was in the kitchen several hours later, making some fresh coffee and a sandwich when a thin hand with light blue nail paint snaked around him and nabbed the pickle spear he'd set next to the turkey and mustard. He turned to give his sister an annoyed look. “That was the last one, Lulu.”

She shrugged, crunching into her second bite. “Sorry,” she said, not sounding so, and waving to her stomach. “Pregnant.”

“You're going to deliver that kid and run out of that excuse,” he warned.

“That's where you're wrong,” she said, opening the fridge door again and surveying the leftovers. “Then I'm going to forever have the 'I gave birth to your kid' excuse, with Mike at least. Oooh, are those olives?” She grabbed another container and amused herself by popping a few olives on the ends of her fingers while he finished making his sandwich.

As he was sticking the mustard bottle back into the door of the refrigerator, he glanced at her and saw that she was giving him a curious look, and he raised his eyebrows back at her. “What?”

She shrugged. “I was just wondering how things really are going for you—I'm kind of getting the vibe that you _do_ have someone special.”

He blinked, trying to remember what he might have said or done to give her that impression, but nothing came to mind. “Why do you think so?”

Lauren shrugged again and ate two of her finger-olives. “You seem a lot happier.”

“It's good to be back,” he said, opening the mug cupboard and selecting one. “Georgia wasn't a good fit for me in a lot of ways.”

“I know what you're doing,” she said, sounding annoyed.

He really was confused at that, since he hadn't consciously been doing anything except waiting for the coffee to finish brewing. “You want to tell me what it is you think I'm doing?”

“Don't be a cop at _me_ , big brother—you're answering different questions, turning it around to get me to give up information without giving any yourself.” Now she folded her arms. “I get not wanting to get into it with Mom, but you can drop the undercover cop act around me. When I started dating Mike, you did a background check on him, and when we got engaged, you had him followed to make sure he was serious. I'm thrilled if you found someone new, really—but fair's fair, and if you really like her, I get to meet her.”

He held a hand up. “Relax, kiddo. I'm sorry I hired someone to keep an eye on Mike—he seems okay, although I swear if he ever does you wrong he's going to be sorry he ever put on his grown-up shoes.” She rolled her eyes at this but smiled a little too, and he decided he could go on. She _could_ , of course, keep a secret from their mother well. “You're right,” he said quietly. “I'm—not alone anymore. It's very new, but I am happy.”

Lauren grinned brilliantly. “I knew it. I'm so happy for you. Tell me about her.”

He sighed and ran a hand through his hair, not wanting to even consider what she might think of his relationships. “I'm not ready to talk about it.”

He glanced up to see her looking at him quizzically, and then, suddenly, her expression changed to realization. “Oh,” she said, very softly.

He frowned. “'Oh' what?”

She looked over her shoulder to make sure they were still alone in the kitchen, and then she leaned a little closer, though she couldn't manage much with her new center of gravity. “Is it... a guy?” she whispered. When he could say nothing, do nothing except look at her, unable to think of any way to respond, she shrugged again. “It's okay if you're not ready, and I won't pry. I'm just happy if you're happy.”

“Juliet,” he blurted. “My—girlfriend. Her name is Juliet.”

Lauren looked a little surprised, and then her brow furrowed. “Like your partner, before you moved?”

“Yes.” _Exactly like my partner. Now my girlfriend. And my boyfriend—his name is Shawn_ , he thought. _It's Lulu, I can tell her anything. Except that. She might be okay if I was with a man, but not a woman **and** a man._

She was nodding again, this time knowingly. “I understand. She's not still your partner...?”

“No.”

“But you could still—get in trouble? Cause a fuss?”

“Something like that.”

“That sucks,” she said sympathetically. “But if she makes you happy it's worth anything that might come of it.”

“Do you think so?”

“Of course. It doesn't matter who it is, as long as they make you glad to be alive. In this crappy world, anyone that makes it not crappy is worth holding onto.” She rubbed her belly and gave him a last smile before heading off to find her husband. 

_Yes_ , he thought, fixing his coffee and blowing on it, still counting down the hours until the holiday festivities were over and everyone was back. _They are._

.

Shawn wasn't at all surprised to see his father in the kitchen behind him, looking at him shrewdly, when he turned around and closed the fridge door. It had been a moderately hunky-dory Christmas with Jules' family almost the entire yesterday and now going on two hours at Henry's with only a minor amount of gloating when he'd won the Stocking Stuffer Square-Off yet again. And although both of them missed Lassie, who was with his mother and sister and whoever else up by San Francisco, he'd known it was too good to be true for it to go as easily as it had so far.

“What's up, Pop?” Shawn asked, and tilted the beer he'd swiped. “Want one?”

“Sure.” His father had the plate that had once held cookies (until Shawn had attacked them) in his hands, and he set it down on the island to take the bottle. “So,” he said, after a long moment. “It's almost two-and-a-half years for you and Juliet.”

“Yup.”

“I gotta say, I never expected it would last this long.”

Shawn couldn't decide if he should be offended or in agreement. “I don't think anyone did,” he said honestly. “But we just keep going and going and going and going. Which is weird, since I've yet to see the pink Energizer bunny.”

“Let's hope you don't,” Henry said dryly. “I'm proud of you though. She's a good woman: smart, strong, on the force, doesn't take any of your crap. God knows what she sees in you, but she's clearly good for you.”

“She has helped me to grow big and strong,” Shawn concurred, refraining from a comment about vitamin V and wondering where this was going. 

“I'm glad,” Henry said. “A good woman is all a man really needs to keep his life on track.” He tilted the tip of his bottle toward Shawn. “I never thought I'd say it, but you're on it, now. If you keep going the way you are, you might turn out okay after all.”

“Deck the halls with backhand compliments, fa la la la la, la la—”

“I'm just saying that she seems like _the one_ for you. Your whole life, all the evidence pointed to you being a puzzle piece that never fit with anything. Now you found her, and maybe that was it—you just needed the right puzzle, to make the right picture.” Henry sighed, set his beer down, went over to the small table where he tossed his mail, glanced toward the living room, and came back in with a small box that he set on the island. “Here.”

Shawn frowned and reached for the box, almost unsurprised when he opened it to find his grandmother's engagement and wedding rings. “Oh, great gosh and fishes!” he gushed. “I thought you'd never ask!”

“Quit it, Shawn, why do you have to be so weird?” his dad demanded. 

“God made a typo when he ordered my brain to be wired.” Shawn set the box down. “I—thanks, Dad, but I'm not—we're not ready for—”

“I know, kid. But take it anyway, and when you _are_ ready...” He sighed again and finished off the beer. “Don't you let her get away, Shawn. It was the biggest mistake I ever made, and now look—you think maybe she isn't the one after all, or that maybe there's more than just one woman a man could be compatible with, but when you're—when you're a difficult person to live with, and you find someone who can outmaneuver the way you are... trust me. You let her go, and you end up alone.”

“I won't end up alone,” Shawn said. He reluctantly picked the ring box again and shoved it into his pocket, and his dad saluted him with the neck of the bottle again before going back out to the living room. 

Shawn sighed heavily as he got another beer, thinking that the very back of his sock drawer would be a good place for the box; he didn't know how their lives were going to be several months, years from now. The metaphor about pictures and puzzles was a good one, though: his picture wasn't finished, and his puzzle was three dimensional, a triangle. How did one put a ring on that?


	5. Buzz Off!

**FEBRUARY 2010**

  
Shawn woke up on his birthday all alone, which sucked. He knew why—Jules had to go testify in a case and Lassie had a meeting with the gang task force about a witness—but he still sat up and pouted a little at the giant, empty bed and no one to do him good morn, honk my horn style. He checked the time and saw that it was almost nine-thirty, and then he decided that although they'd had a small party/gathering of friends/celebration of the awesome that was Shawn Spencer planned later on (just his girlfriend and boyfriend and best friend, all of the people that mattered) that included cake and video games and alcohol, it wasn't going to make up for him having to spend the whole day alone.

“I'm sorry, Shawn,” Gus said, after Shawn had texted him eight times and he'd finally called back. “I really need to make these appointments with four new doctors. If I'm successful with three of them, it could make up for missing my whole route two days last week when we busted the guy who faked his death so that his kids would get the insurance payout.”

“I hated that one,” Shawn complained. “That guy just wanted a fresh start, and I totally wanted to live vicariously through those kids—they had some big dreams about the tree house made of string cheese.”

“That never would have worked, even if it wouldn't have rotted,” Gus scoffed. “Why would you want walls that peeled?”

“The floors would have been so bouncy.”

“Whatever,” Gus said. “I'll definitely be there tonight, especially since you got Lassiter to agree to play Mario Kart and get wasted. I honestly can't wait to see that.”

“It's going to be hilarious,” Shawn promised. “He's practically unaware that he hums chase music whenever I get him to play a driving game—the first time he played with me I lost because I was trying so hard not to laugh and spoil it, because then I could never enjoy it again. Bring your _License To Drive_ skills, though; Jules is pretty good, and there's no way you're going to best me. Twelve races, random courses, loser drinks—which will be you.”

“I think not,” Gus said. “I'm at least going to whip Lassie's ass.”

“Nope, I already called that.”

“ _Shawn_ ,” Gus groaned. “You've been so good about _sharing_ ever since he moved back here, don't you dare start those allusions up again.”

“I can't turn illusions for money _on my birthday_?”

“ _A_ llusion—to mention or refer to something else. And no—if you make any sort of comments about your private time with Lassie or Jules I'm leaving.”

“Whew, you bore,” Shawn said, and Gus hung up. He snickered as he stuck his phone back into his pocket, and then he decided that although Jules was doing Serious Police Business in court, Lassie would probably be out of his meeting and botherable for at least a short time, so he headed to the police department.

He found Lassie downstairs in one of the record rooms, a folding table covered in stacks of paper Shawn immediately categorized as hospital records, witness statements, arrest records, boring records, old paper, receipts for the strange animals no one bought at Build-A-Bear (probably), and at least two photocopies of car titles. 

He slid into the room and closed the door behind him. Lassie didn't look up. “Did you get it?” he asked.

“Oh, I got it,” Shawn said, and then he grinned when Lassie looked up in surprise.

“You did?”

“Sure.” He instantly decided to go with it, his curiosity slightly piqued, knowing how often he got information out of people by pretending that he already knew what was up. “But it'll cost ya.”

Unfortunately, after knowing him for three years, and being so close with him for the last year and a half, and being a competent detective, it only took a closer look at him and four more seconds before Lassiter rolled his eyes and pointed back out the door. “No, you didn't. Go track a vampire, I'm working.”

“But it might want to suck parts of me.” Shawn grinned. “Aren't you jealous?”

“Not in the least. I'm serious, Shawn, get out of here. You haven't been hired for a case and I can't be seen being too friendly with you.”

“Everybody wants to hurt my feelings today.” Shawn stuck out his lower lip and came a few steps closer. “It's my birthday, you know.”

“I know—you haven't shut up about it all week. Congratulations, you survived another year. Juliet arranged to pick up a cake for you on her way home and no one's going to stop you from eating a good seventy percent of it. But right now I'm working, so git.”

“Stop saying 'git',” Shawn said. “Of all the crap you picked up in Georgia, that's the most annoying.”

“Agree to disagree,” Lassie said. “It was in Georgia that I apparently picked up _you_.”

Shawn held his hands out. “Where are those Southern hospitality manners I grew to expect? Am I rubbing off on you too much? Not enough? Because we can fix that.”

“Shawn...”

He gestured to the papers all over the table. “Can I help? C'mon, I'm bored.”

“You haven't been hired—and you don't need to be, I'm making a lot of progress. Or I _was_.” Lassiter gave him another look. “I'm sorry that everybody else has work to do, but you can't do anything here, and you need to get going.”

Shawn sighed. “Fine, I'll go be all alone. Can I at least get a kiss before I leave?”

“No.”

“But it's my birthday,” he wheedled.

“I got you a present, and you're going to like it,” Lassie assured him. “Go home or you won't get it.”

“I'll go home if you kiss me.”

“ _Not_ here, Shawn,” Lassiter said firmly. “We talked about this and we all agreed.”

“Please...? Look, the door's closed, and no one ever comes in here.” Shawn stepped closer, so that he could lean into him and lightly nuzzle his neck. “Come on Lassie, just once. It's my birthday, and I looooooove you.” He smiled when he felt Lassiter sigh and slip an arm around his waist.

“Your birthday is not the greatest day of the entire year,” he grumbled.

Shawn grinned wider as he looked up at him. “You're so wrong about that. Remember last year? That was beyond epic—I _love_ it when you fuck me like that.”

“Which way?”

“All ways,” Shawn breathed, trailing his hands up Lassie's sides, his chest, around the back of his neck. “Like when you pound me so hard I can't do anything but take it. Or when you hold me nice and start real slow, and you're all the way inside me for _so_ long.” He licked his lips, more than a little aroused when he saw Lassie's pupils dilate and felt his hands graze up to his sides. “Every way,” he repeated softly, gazing up at him and feeling starry-eyed, not caring. “Oh, man, you have no idea what you do to me.”

“I have some idea,” Lassiter said softly, and leaned down. Shawn dropped his eyelids almost all the way closed and parted his lips, unable to help a soft moan when Lassie's hot tongue slid into his mouth. He pulled his face down a little more while moving closer into him, and despite all of his directions to get lost, Shawn could feel Lassie's body reacting, the bulge at his groin becoming firmer and his hands sliding down a little to his hips, gripping him tighter. Lassie tried to pull away a little but Shawn held him right where they were, not wanting to break to the surface; Lassie was a great kisser, amazing, and once they sank into each other it was far too intoxicating to let him go and just breathe lame boring oxygen again.

The horrendously stupid part was, he reflected later, that he _heard_ the door start to open, but that he was still too slow. He was okay with calling it that, instead of something corny like drunk on lust, even though that one was a little closer to the truth.

“Ohmygosh!” they heard.

Shawn jerked a step away from Lassiter, who flung him farther away as they both turned to the doorway: Buzz McNab goggled at them for a second or two longer, his mouth hanging open and his eyes darting between them, before he stepped back into the hallway, closed the door, and hurried away. Shawn stared at the closed door, feeling both completely blank and slightly panicked.

Which was nothing compared to what Lassie was feeling, apparently—he turned furious eyes to Shawn, his hands in fists and his face white. “ _Fuck_!” he spat, and turned to kick a chair so hard he knocked it over. “God _d_ —you stay here, I need to go after him.”

“Whoa, no, I don't think so,” Shawn said, and grabbed his sleeve. Lassiter tried to jerk away, but Shawn held on tightly, looking at him defiantly when he received an impatient glare. Lassiter shoved him off and started for the door, and Shawn had to step forward and grab his elbow, squeezing him and pulling him back. “No, Lassie, stop— _Carlton_ , stop!” he ordered, and was slightly surprised when that actually worked. Lassiter froze and then snapped his neck around, scowling but no longer trying to bolt from the room as Shawn finally had his complete attention. Shawn held onto his arm anyway, but not as tight. “ _I'll_ go find Buzz,” he said. “You're a little scary right now, and that's not going to help anything if you go terrorize him.”

“What are you going to say?” Lassiter demanded.

“I don't know, I'll think of something. Buzz likes me, and he still believes I'm psychic.” Shawn tentatively released him and stepped toward the door himself. “You stay here and chill. I'll be right back.”

“You just blew everything,” Lassiter snapped as he turned the doorknob.

“I know,” Shawn said without looking back. 

He found McNab upstairs in the bullpen, standing uncertainly near Juliet's desk, which was empty—she wasn't back from court yet. When he came closer and Buzz saw him, he visibly jerked, averting his eyes. “Uh,” he said. “Hi, Shawn.”

“Hey Buzz,” he said softly. “Can I talk to you for a sec?”

He hesitated, and then nodded, but still didn't look at him. “Okay.”

Shawn tilted his head toward an empty office, and Buzz followed him inside. “Um... look, man,” he began.

Buzz held up a hand, giving Shawn what was, for him, a stern look, which surprised him into shutting up. “Just hold up here, okay? I would never tell you—or Detective Lassiter, he's a little frightening—what to do,” he said. “But Shawn—Juliet—“ He stopped, unable to scold past that much, looking reproachful.

Shawn was thinking fast, trying to decide how much to say. On one hand, Buzz McNab was the epitome of big and sweet but far from the sharpest tool in the shed; he was almost always cheerful and kind, eager and friendly like a puppy, and loyal too. On the other hand, this wasn't just _his_ everything, but theirs too, and it wasn't only the relationship between all of them that was balanced so carefully; Lassie and Jules took their jobs, and their places in life, very, very seriously. For Lassiter especially, being well-respected on the force _was_ his place in life, and what Buzz had seen in the file room couldn't be easily brushed off as nothing, a one-time lapse. It would be reckless to try to play it off that way, because uncertainty and suspicion would remain. 

“It's okay,” Shawn said slowly. “We're not hurting Juliet.” He paused, listening to his instincts and what his gut told him to do, carefully gauging Buzz's expression and seeing that he was simply puzzled and concerned, not accusatory. “She knows, man. Me and Lassiter, _and_ Jules. It's—kind of... you know. We're all... a thing.”

Buzz blinked, taking only a few seconds to realize what Shawn was implying, and then his eyes widened. “You—really? All _three_ of you?”

Shawn nodded solemnly. “Yeah.”

“Wow,” Buzz said, fascinated. “People can do that?”

Shawn had to fight not to grin. “Sure, if they want to.”

“Is it because you're psychic?” Buzz's head was tilted slightly, reminding Shawn of a puppy trying to figure out where the ball really went if no one was currently holding it. “Does your spirit need—more? Than regular people?”

Shawn shrugged. “Different people find happiness in different ways. There's magic all around us, buddy.”

“Wow,” he said again. “I never even imagined—“

“It's a secret though, okay? Please don't tell anyone. Downstairs—that was my fault, and it was stupid. It won't happen again. I'll make sure Lassiter isn't mad at you. He's just worried, since most people wouldn't understand. You know how some people just don't believe in the magic of the universe.”

“I understand,” Buzz said quickly. “And it's your business. I won't tell.”

Shawn finally grinned. “Thanks, man.”

Back in the file room, he found Lassiter pacing, his jaw set so tightly that his lips seemed to have disappeared. Shawn closed the door again and showed his palms to placate him when his head whipped around fiercely. “It's okay,” he said quickly. “I talked to him.”

“What did you say?” Lassiter demanded.

Shawn rubbed at the back of his neck. “I just... told him it's cool. He was mostly just surprised, and then worried we were going to end up hurting Jules.”

“You told him it was _cool_ ,” Lassiter repeated. “Great. I'm glad I don't have to worry about my job, then.”

“He won't tell anyone,” Shawn assured him. “I just—I told him that we were kind of a thing, and that Jules knows, and he thinks my magical psychic spirit is so much more in tune with the harmonies of the universe than regular mortals that I need me a double dip to stay grounded, or something.” He shrugged, ignoring Lassiter's incredulous look. “I didn't correct him—I said as little as possible, but he believes everything's fine and no one's getting hurt and it won't happen again and it's our business.” He sighed, his shoulders slumping as Lassiter folded his arms and glared at him. “I know—I'm in big fucking trouble. I'm sorry. You said no and I pushed and it's my fault. I'm going home and I don't get any birthday cake, but I swear that it's going to be okay and you don't have to worry about Buzz. You know how he is, all gullible and friendly and nice. He means it—he won't tell. And I believe him.”

“One person is all it takes,” Lassiter said flatly. “If he tells his wife, and she tells someone else...”

Shawn dropped his eyes to the floor. “I'm sorry.”

“'Sorry' doesn't feed the bulldog.”

Shawn couldn't help it—he looked back up, one eyebrow cocked. “Is that another Georgia thing?”

“Shawn I _swear to God_ ,” Lassiter began, and then he held his hands up, clenched them into fists and dropped them. “Go home and stay there. I don't know what's going to happen later, but don't expect to see me tonight—I'm going to be sleeping at _my_ apartment.”

Shawn's shoulders slumped and he sighed. “Okay.”

When he got back outside, he sat on his bike but didn't put his helmet on, didn't start it; instead he stared at his phone, trying to decide if he should text or call Jules. Lassie surely would, and she would be almost as furious with him. What a way to ruin his own birthday. Now he _really_ didn't want to be alone, although he had kind of been sent home alone as punishment, and if he tried to find Gus, Lassie would know, and it certainly wouldn't help his mood. He could text Gus, though. 

_hey buddy_ , he typed, _um I kinda committed a major nono at the pd n I thnk the prty is off n I was just grounded but I actually kinda desrve it_. He paused, thinking that if he begged, Gus probably _would_ show up, and then he would certainly get a long lecture, but he'd deserve that, too. _come yell @ me 2 prpare me fr l8r. n brng snacks good ones bc i'm srsly in trouble ): ): pls_

He slipped his phone back into his pocket and snapped the strap of his helmet underneath his chin, thinking that his dreams of birthday cookies and birthday nookies had turned into a big birthday dookie.

.

Lassiter told himself that he _wasn't_ anxious or apprehensive about going back upstairs and seeing McNab. Of anyone in the entire department, who the hell would be nervous about facing _that_ goon? Then, who of the entire department was stupid enough to get caught kissing his illicit boyfriend when he knew goddamn well that it was a mistake?

Fucking Shawn. 

No, actually—birthday or no, Lassiter was dead set on him being banished to the figurative sofa. He was sure he could get Juliet on board as well, since she was going to understand far better than Shawn could, or cared to, what might happen now. He had to tell her as soon as possible, but it was much too involved to put into a text (not that he'd want it in writing anyway), and he could very much ill-afford to draw any _more_ attention to himself and what might be involved in his personal relationships with _anyone_. He gritted his teeth when he knew he couldn't stay in the file room any longer, and he finally squared his shoulders and headed for the stairs, not knowing in the least what he was going to do if McNab so much as _looked_ at him.

He made it to his desk, where he deposited the folders he'd brought up, and then he couldn't keep his eyes forward any longer—he looked around, eyes darting from face to face as people moved through the halls and offices, but McNab wasn't around. He relaxed a little and sat down, but couldn't get focused. 

Two hours later, Juliet was back from court, at her desk, when McNab came back into the bullpen; he went straight for Chief Vick's office and Lassiter clenched his fists without thinking, accidentally crumpling a sheet of his notes he'd been holding. He chanced at look at Juliet and saw her glance at him quickly before frowning at her computer: she knew something was going on with him. He still thought he couldn't risk a text or email; no, he had to talk to her, and as soon as possible without arousing any _more_ suspicion. 

It was clearly an oversight that they didn't have any secret codes or signals for communicating while they were at work.

Wait—they _did_. Or they had. Several years ago, when they were partners and working cases that got to the point of questioning witnesses or suspects, they'd had a few that they'd used fairly frequently before they'd gotten to the point of reading each other so well that they hadn't needed them. Lassiter leaned back in his chair and folded his arms across his chest, with one hand resting on the other elbow. When he saw Juliet's head tilt toward him again, he tapped his first finger once— _we need to talk_ —and then twice— _urgently_. She reached one hand up and tucked hair behind her ear that hadn't been there: she'd seen and understood. He almost smiled before catching himself and turning his face back to his notes, feeling pleased despite his still-jangled nerves, because she remembered. Of course she did—she was a good cop. One of the best. And even though there had been a span of over two years since they'd worked together, including one year in which they hadn't seen or spoken to each other at all, she still knew him. He'd continued to be important to her even through that time, and no matter what happened now, he would have that.

The chief's door opened and Vick herself leaned out. “O'Hara,” she called, and Lassiter felt his stomach drop before she went on, “and Antillo—come on in here, we have a new case.”

Juliet got up immediately and headed for the office, pausing to let Antillo go in first, which gave her enough time to glance back at Lassiter and give him a quizzical look. He met her eyes and gave his head a half-shake, and when she turned to reach for the office door handle he saw that she understood that, too— _not now_. He still needed to talk to her, and she still knew that, but work came first, especially now.

As Juliet turned around, McNab looked at her, his eyebrows furrowed as if he didn't understand something (which was, for him, his second-default expression behind the perky fresh-faced kick-the-sun-out-of-bed thing). Just before the door closed, Juliet glanced at McNab, and Lassiter saw him smile at her.

He looked back down at his notes, frowning and thinking that, if he'd seen that and discerned its meaning accurately, it hadn't been a snotty you're-in-trouble expression at all, just his regular, friendly openness. He hoped, for all of their sakes, that Shawn had been right.


	6. Strike One

Lassiter was, as he'd told Shawn, at the apartment where he technically lived, all by himself, when Juliet arrived later; she came in with a frown on, and when he met her eyes again he saw that she knew. “You talked to Shawn?” he asked.

“He told me what happened when I called him to remind him to pick up the living room for his birthday tonight,” she said, sitting down on the sofa next to him. “I told him I was going to come talk to you, since you said you wanted to see me.” They were both quiet for a moment, looking at each other, and then she shook her head and sighed. “At least it was only Buzz.”

“ _Only_ Buzz,” Lassiter sneered, and dialed it down when she raised an eyebrow at him. “That idiot's probably going to tell his wife.”

“He didn't tell the chief,” she pointed out. “If Shawn convinced him not to tell anyone, and he says he won't and that he believes him... well, I guess that's the best we can do.” She did look a little worried, though. “There isn't much we can do about it now.”

“I can't believe he did that, after we _all_ agreed—”

“You can't believe he what, put your tongue in his mouth after gluing your hands on him?”

He stopped and looked at her, resenting that quite a bit but knowing she was right, and seeing in her face that she damn well knew it. “Okay, it wasn't _all_ his fault,” he grumbled. “But I told him 'no' several times, _and_ , after I kissed him I tried to pull away, but he hung on. It's mostly his fault. You should stay here with me and make him spend the night alone on his stupid birthday.”

Juliet shook her head. “I don't think that would help.”

“Couldn't hurt.”

“Don't be petty,” she said. “This isn't a tit-for-tat situation, you don't need to get back at him for it.” He shrugged again, still sullen, and she sighed. “What do you want to do about it?”

“I don't know,” he said. “What do you think?”

“I guess all we can do is... watch for developments.” She thought for a few seconds and then nodded. “It didn't happen, and Buzz knows nothing. Unless he does or says anything to make us think otherwise. We watch him to see if he has any obvious reactions to any of us, and we go from there.”

“Shawn needs to not come to the station _at all_ unless the chief needs him in an official capacity. And unless you or I really do think he can help with a case, that needs to not happen.”

“Probably,” she agreed. “Although Psych gets almost all of its business from the PD.”

“Don't care,” he said curtly. “Guster has another job—a real one—and Shawn never pays for anything anyway. I can't handle even the chance of him deciding everything's hunky-dory and it's okay to try something _else_ there.”

“He won't,” Juliet said simply, and stood up. “Let's go talk to him.”

He remained where he was and shook his head. “I told him I wasn't going to your place tonight.”

“Well, that was silly and a bit premature, wasn't it?” She held her hands out. “Come on, Carlton. I don't mean you have to stop being mad that he's so reckless and that he didn't take no for an answer, and I'm not saying he gets his special birthday banging. You can come back here later if you're still that mad, but we need to have a serious discussion about this now, so that we're all on the same page.”

He scowled but got to his feet. “That's where I thought we were when I came back here, but apparently he can't just read along with the class like everybody else.”

“Sometimes that's true, but I'm willing to bet that after today he'll have realized that there's an actual possibility of what we have being unraveled by carelessness. I know he doesn't want that, and I'm sure he'll be more careful from now on.”

He looked at her steadily. “You willing to wager your job on that? And mine?”

He was slightly surprised that she honestly thought about it before answering, and he gave her credit for her answer. “Let's go talk to him,” she said softly. “I'd bet a lot on Shawn, Carlton. You would too, because no matter his methods, he comes through in the end. He just needs to be reminded of the rules every now and then. Don't make up your mind until you see what his response is when we tell him that it can _never_ happen again.”

.

“It's not made up,” Carlton said, as they got into her car—she'd easily given up her keys when he'd automatically walked to the driver's side—and he started it. “I'm mostly mad at myself, because I _know_ him, and I know what he's like, and I let myself get carried away anyway. He's pestered me more than a door-to-door Mormon about various things, and I usually hold my ground. He just gets so excited about his stupid _birthday_ , and he had to say that he _loves_ me and start talking about how much he likes some of the things we do.”

“It's still mostly his fault, you're right about that,” Juliet said firmly. “He knew that would make you want to kiss him, to forget that you'd told him to get lost while you're working. We did have an agreement that if we were all going to be in a serious relationship it needed to be a secret one, and making a move on you in the _unsecret_ file room was out of line.”

“We need a contingency plan.”

Her eyes flicked over to him, and she frowned a little. “In the event of?”

“In the event of... people finding out. Of... _us_ , how we are, getting out.”

“What do you suggest?” she asked cautiously, not liking the way his jaw was set and his eyes glared at the road. Self-preservation had always been such a strong instinct for him, and while it was an important one, she knew his could blow things out of proportion and bowl over just about anything; hopefully, not including her and Shawn, but this situation, while seeming okay for the time being, could still erupt. 

He shook his head. “I don't know. I've been thinking about it all day, and I've got nothing. That's what's driving me bugshit about it. If we're not careful, _all_ of us, and it gets out... we're ruined. You and I will never work for the city again. I like being a detective, Juliet—being a cop is who I am.”

“It's who I am too,” she reminded him softly, and reached for his hand. He let her take it, but rested their entwined fingers on the seat between their legs so that they couldn't be seen outside the car. “Being with you _and_ Shawn is also who I am,” she said. “I don't want to lose that, either.” She paused deliberately. “Do you?”

“No.”

She felt a little more confident at how quickly he answered and how firm his voice was. “Good. And I _know_ Shawn doesn't—he loves you, and he loves us being three. This was just a mistake—a stupid, unnecessary one—that we need to go over and make sure doesn't happen again. I honestly believe that he understands that now, and that it won't. You still trust him, don't you?”

He sighed heavily. “Reserving judgment,” he said, though she was fairly sure that was mostly just his inability to let go of the scare that had been thrown into him. She wouldn't say so, because it would put him even more on edge, but if this was going to happen sooner or later, she was almost glad it had been now, early on, and they _had_ been lucky that it was Buzz McNab and not that snoopy file clerk, or the chief, or—Heaven forbid—Head Detective Gates. Shawn's voice had been very small indeed when she'd called him, and she'd meant it when she said she was sure he understood now, if he hadn't before, what stakes he could be playing with by being so flippant.

She wasn't surprised to see Gus's car in the parking lot of their building, and one quick glance at Carlton and his scowl told her he'd seen it as well. When they got inside the apartment, she had to admit she was a little impressed to see the clean, empty living room—there were no video games on the TV, and not only had the tidying up been done, but the floor had been vacuumed, the shelves dusted and gleaming, and the glass surface of the coffee table sparkling. The room smelled liked Pledge and Febreeze, and she was pretty sure she heard the dishwasher in the kitchen. She glanced at Carlton again, who was also looking around the room with an eyebrow raised. She shrugged at him when he looked back at her, and they went into the kitchen.

Gus was sitting on the counter, a bottle of mustard turned upside down between his hands as he passed it from one to the other. “Over here!” he said, aiming at the floor in front of the sink, and Shawn, who stood in the middle of the floor with a wad of paper towels, twitched that way before Gus turned and aimed near the table instead. “Nope, going over this w—oh, hi, Jules, Lassie.”

Shawn spun around, his eyes wide and a gloop of mustard on one sleeve. “This isn't a game!” he said quickly.

“It's real life?” Juliet suggested, amused in spite of herself.

“I don't know how you could possibly have come to that conclusion,” Carlton said, folding his arms. “What the hell are you two doing?”

“I'm making a huge mess,” Gus said cheerfully. “And Shawn is cleaning it up. It's symbolic of his inability to not make messes all around him.”

“Huh. I approve.”

“I knew you would,” Gus said, and squirted mustard on Shawn's shirt.

“Hey!” he squawked, swiping his front with the paper towels. “You said it was going on the floor!”

“You're the floor, Shawn.”

“Are you suggesting I let people walk on me? I'm not the one with the foot thing!”

“I don't have a foot thing!” Gus retorted, holding the bottle ready.

“ _No one_ has a foot thing,” Juliet said, and took the bright yellow French's squeeze tube from his hands. “Thank you for trying to help, Gus, but we could all use some private time now.”

Gus hopped down from the counter and brushed his hands off, giving Shawn a satisfied look as he held his shirt away from his body and wrinkled his lip. “Gross, man, this shirt is ruined,” he complained. “Does mustard wash out?”

“It does if you get to it before the stain sets,” Gus said.

Before Shawn could pull the shirt off, Carlton snatched a Heinz bottle that was also on the counter and squeezed the majority of it all over Shawn's shirt while looking highly pleased with himself. Shawn flinched and held his hands up, succeeding only in getting it all over his arms as well, Gus's mouth dropped open and he crowed with delight, and Juliet rolled her eyes. 

“Carlton!” she snapped. 

“Couldn't be helped,” he said, tossing the empty bottle over his shoulder, where it hit the wall and spun on the floor. “He can clean that up, too.”

Shawn turned his arms over and then gazed down at his shirt, which was cris-crossed with red and yellow streaks. “I can't decide if I should compare myself to a hot dog or remind Lassie that I need a _little_ more advance notice for squirting on me,” he said.

“If you're squirting red I advise you to consult your physician,” Gus said to Carlton.

“There will be _absolutely_ no squirting happening here,” he said, folding his arms again.

Juliet handed Shawn the rest of the roll of paper towels; he sighed and began swabbing his forearms. “Thanks, buddy,” he said. “I'll see you later.”

Gus left, and Juliet and Carlton watched while Shawn made sure his arms were relatively condiment-free before he pulled his shirt over his head and made a face at it. “I really did like this shirt.” Neither of them said anything back to him and his eyes flicked over nervously. “Um... I'm sorry,” he said. “Is it big trouble time?”

“Kind of,” Juliet said, folding her arms to match Carlton's posture. “Go get cleaned up the rest of the way and meet us in the living room. We need to talk.”

Shawn suddenly looked panicked. “What? No!”

Uh oh, that had been slightly too much of the bad cop/bad cop when he was clearly already expecting some sort of fallout. She held both of her hands up. “It's okay,” she said quickly. “ _Just_ talk. We need to have a discussion about boundaries and a few reminders about how we're going to keep our relationship secret.”

His eyes flicked back and forth between them, seeing that Carlton looked a little taken aback and that she was placatory now instead of accusatory, and he let out his breath in a whoosh. “Jesus, Mary, and Jojo the carpenter,” he said. “Scare me like that again and I won't poo for a month.” He shook his head as he went past them, paused at the trash can to throw his shirt in, and headed for the bedroom to put a fresh one on.

Carlton turned raised eyebrows to her. “What was that about?”

“I think he thought we were going to tell him it was over,” she said slowly, a little surprised herself at his reaction. “I think part of him must have been expecting to hear that, or a version of it.”

“But I just squirted ketchup on him,” he said, confused. 

She blinked, and then she realized that he was equating that to playfully goofing with someone, something one wouldn't likely do with a friend or boyfriend if they were planning on ending a relationship with him. “He knows it's serious,” she reiterated.

Carlton nodded, following her to the living room. “All right. I'm still mad, though.”

Shawn was already there, standing near the sofa. “I know,” he said quickly. “That was my fuck up, and it'll never happen again.”

Carlton pointed to the sofa. “Sit.” When Shawn obeyed, a trace of a smile crossed Carlton's face. “Good,” he said. “Now shut your trap and listen. If you can behave, I _might_ tell you to lie down and roll over in a bit.”

When Shawn broke into a huge grin and held his arms up like a puppy begging, Juliet turned her head away so that he wouldn't see her trying to hide a smirk. “Wow,” she said quietly. 

Carlton glanced at her, returned to his serious expression, and sat down in the armchair. “Go fetch me a drink,” he told Shawn.

“But you said to sit.”

“I didn't say to speak.”

Shawn put both of his hands up and then raised his eyebrows at Juliet. “Sure, if you're getting them,” she said, and sat on one end of the sofa.

When he returned a couple of minutes later with three drinks, passing them out without a word, Carlton pointed to the sofa again and he sat. “So,” Juliet said, and Shawn looked at her. “You understand what could have happened today,” she said quietly. 

“What almost _did_ happen,” Carlton corrected. “If that had been _anyone_ else coming in there—”

“I know,” Shawn said again. “We were lucky. I was lucky,” he amended, when Carlton gave him a look. 

“Yes,” he said, and rolled his eyes. “Your magical luck. One of these days you're going to rely on it at exactly the wrong moment and it's all going to crash down on you at once.”

“I don't _rely_ on it, things just—happen. Or don't happen. I don't know, I—” Shawn stopped and sighed. “Okay, whatever, you're right. The point is I get it—what could happen to you guys if we were all found out. Disgrace, dishonor on your cow, shame on your name, a pox on your family, cast out from society—I'm not being glib!” he said, realizing they were both glaring at him. “I know it really does mean that stuff! It's _stupid_ , but it's not up to me—it's up to the masses, who say, like Spider-Man, _everybody gets one_.”

“Unlike Spider-Man, they're not referring to the saving of your life,” Carlton said.

“I know, but... something about webs of lies saving our lives? It sucks, but it's... necessary.”

“It is necessary,” Juliet said. “I agree that it's unfair—it's our personal, private lives and shouldn't at all impact who we are professionally. And _technically_ our personal relationships don't factor into our jobs unless we work together, which is why Vick doesn't want you consulting on my cases, Shawn.”

“It's also why she made a point to inform me that I would not be reinstated as your partner after the Nolan case,” Carlton told her dryly. “However, people can _technically_ be nosy parkers and make your life difficult if they have it out for you.”

Shawn was nodding, his face solemn. “I get it,” he said again, very quietly. “It doesn't matter what I think, what matters is that you guys depend on good standings with the people you work with in order to do your jobs, and to keep your jobs.” He looked at Carlton. “It's not that I thought it would be okay for people to know, or for anyone to walk in. I just... didn't think anyone would. Or that I'd hear them in time. I wasn't even really thinking about it at all, which, I know, was the problem. I was just...” He shrugged. “It's my birthday, and I just wanted a quick kiss before I left. I got caught up.”

“You wanted to push me and make me give in because it's you, and you always get what you want,” Carlton said. “You behave like a spoiled brat sometimes.”

Shawn looked for a second as if he was going to contest that, and then he shrugged and nodded. “Okay. You're right. I really can be. And since I'm thirty-one now, it's probably safe to say that's not going to change: I'm always going to be the class clown attention whore that wants you to bend the rules for me because it's me. _But._ I promise I won't do that with you—” he glanced at Juliet “or you—” and back to Carlton “around anyone or anything that has to do with work or your jobs anymore. You guys—what we all have here means too much to me. If there's even a little chance that being a jackass and playing around is going to cause problems, then I'm straight-face.”

Juliet smiled. “I'm glad to hear that.”

“I am too,” Carlton said after a moment. 

Shawn licked his lips. “Forgive me?”

“Yes,” Juliet said. “We're good as long as you can stick to that.”

“I can stick,” he promised. “Lassie? No more grumps?”

“That depends.” Carlton sipped his drink. “How much of a straight face are you talking?”

Shawn grinned. “Like I was _ever_ straight? But there's no police-y stuff here.” He considered that. “Except maybe your handcuffs.” He paused again, glancing between them. “Can I have my birthday still?” he ventured. “It's not that late...?”

Juliet looked at Carlton, and although he merely sipped his drink again, she saw that he wasn't adverse to the idea. “Yes,” she said. “Call Gus back, if you want. The bakery is closed, though, so I can't get your cake.”

“That's just as well,” Carlton said. “I was going to smash his face in it.”

“Well now you ruined the surprise,” Shawn told him. “Were you at least going to wait until the candles were out?”

He shrugged. “I was going to let the wind decide me when it came down to crunch time.”

“You were going to light my _face_ on fire? Rude! You already made my shirt look like a murder scene.”

Carlton shrugged. “Something about flaming,” he said. Shawn grinned and gave him the finger.


	7. On My Command...

**MARCH 2010**

  
“I'm going to kill you, Shawn!” Gus hissed.

Shawn squeezed himself as far against the wall as he could without rising up over the line of crates they were hidden behind. “Get in line!”

“I'm at the _front_ of the line, I'm closest to you!”

“You don't have a weapon!”

Gus's hand flashed out and his fingers twisted in Shawn's shirt, going for an Olympic medal in the Purple Nurple. Unfortunately, it was all too possible that it would generate the opposite of the intended effect, and although he winced in pain, Shawn couldn't help snorting laughter. Gus glared at him. “Was that not hard enough for you?” he challenged. “Here, let me get the other one!”

“You really... really don't want to do that, buddy,” Shawn managed, now having to clamp a hand over his mouth to stifle a bray of embarrassed giggles. He was sure his face could be mistaken for a tomato with awesome hair should anyone invite the comparison. “It's just... Jules and Lassie do that sometimes, and it kind of...”

“Oh my god!” Gus spat, clamping both of his own hands over his ears. “Do _not_ tell me that!”

“You're the one getting handsy! Don't get me wrong, dude, you're a super attractive man, but I don't think of you like that. I guess I just can't get tingly over someone I shared a bath with as a toddler.”

Shawn cocked his head toward the ceiling, elbowing Gus hard to get him to stop muttering “Going to kill you, going to kill you” like some people said “ohm”. As soon as Gus shut up, they could both hear quiet talking, which Shawn thought was—no, he was right, it was definitely fading.

“They're leaving,” he whispered. “Now's our chance.”

“Okay,” Gus said, nodding and gulping air. “We get outside while they're still looking for the painting you stole from them after they stole it from the gallery and hid in here somewhere.”

“That's right, buddy.” No, that painting was not still in the back of the Blueberry, which was parked two blocks away, how dare anyone think such a thing. If anyone asked, he was totally going to say he was being recruited by the Leverage team to steal stolen things back. Why _couldn't_ Eliot Spencer be his long-lost cousin?

Gus gave him a look. “And _then_ we're going to call Jules, like you promised you were going to _before_ robbing the robbers and getting us trapped in a warehouse maze by men with giant guns.”

“To be fair, I really didn't think they'd believe you yoinked such a classic piece of art from their stash. Way to go, buddy, your stealth level is off the charts. The Jackal deserves a snackal.”

“Me! Shawn—”

“Shh! Let's go!”

.

Lassiter was working at his desk when his cell phone rang; he glanced at the display and frowned, wondering why in the hell Shawn was calling him at work. He almost silenced it and put it aside, and then he hesitated—after the serious discussion the three of them had had last month about drawing attention to them at the PD, Shawn had actually been very good about not coming in unless Chief Vick had called him or he actually had a lead on something they could use. He knew Lassiter was at work today, right now. If he was calling anyway, he probably had a reason.

“This better be good,” he said as he answered his phone.

“Um, it's kind of not?” Shawn's voice was fast but quiet, like he didn't want to be heard. “Look, I'm sorry—I tried to call Jules, but her phone is off.”

“Is it police business?”

“Yes!”

“Then call Gates or Vick.”

“No, Lassie, I want _you_!” Shawn sounded desperate, and although he'd been on the verge of hanging up, Lassiter held on again. “Me and Gus are at a warehouse on New Haven Street, and there are men with guns. We're not in immediate danger—we got out—but I didn't know the woman that runs an art gallery by the marina followed their van out here, and now they have her. Vick is going to have to call SWAT and Gates is just going to want to blaze in.” He paused. “I need to go back in after that girl. You need to come get me.”

“No!” Lassiter almost jumped his feet, and then he cringed a little when he saw a few heads turn his way. “Do _not_ go back in if you're out,” he said, his voice low now as he walked quickly to the hallway. “I mean it.”

“They said they were going to kill her if she didn't help them find this painting they stole and lost,” Shawn said, and Lassiter could hear a tremor in his voice. “They think it's here, because they _were_ storing stuff here, but this time they're not going to find it, because I already did.”

“I will be right there with all the necessary backup,” Lassiter said, straining to keep his voice steady and calm. “Do. _Not_. Go back in.” 

Silence.

“Shawn!” he hissed. “Do you hear me?”

“Yes.”

“Do not take matters any more into your own hands,” Lassiter ordered. “I'm trained to handle this, and I'm on my way. You're going to be outside and meet my car when I get there, got it?”

Silence again. 

He lowered his voice again. “Do _not_ do this to me.”

Another beat of silence, and Lassiter thought he could feel his heart jerking around in his throat, where it had climbed up to choke him. Shawn could have set the phone down or handed it to Guster and taken off anyway, he could have—

“Okay,” Shawn said, and although his voice was small, although he sounded unsure, he was _there_. “I'll be here.”

“You just better be,” Lassiter snapped. He flipped his phone closed and started moving.

.

When Lassie's car screeched to a stop next to the Blueberry, Shawn tried to run to the door, to Lassie—but then he was out of the car and pointing at him, his face more set than Shawn had seen in months. “No,” he said, and Shawn froze, staring at him. “ _Stay_ put,” he ordered. “I mean it, Spencer—not another step. _We_ will handle this. _You_ stay right there.”

Shawn glared at him. “Who's ' _we_ ', _Lassiter_?”

“'We' as in the police,” he said, still pointing as if his finger was keeping Shawn's feet stuck to the ground. It seemed to be working so far—he hadn't taken another step—and Shawn was reminded for just a second how hot he normally found it when Lassie's eyes blazed and he outright _demanded_ his orders be followed. “Backup is on the way,” he continued. “Including O'Hara and Antillo— _and_ including Chief Vick, who, _trust_ me, won't hesitate to have you two forced off the scene if you try anything. You two stay by your car, or so help me.” He scowled at Shawn, flicked his eyes toward Gus—who had actually taken a step _back_ , the coward, like he still thought he needed to be afraid of Sassy Lassie—and finally dropped his hand.

The second he did, Shawn stepped forward again. “So help you by telling you how many of them are in there, and which one's the leader?” he asked. “By helping to get their hostage out safe? It's my fault she's even in there.”

“So I've heard,” Lassie said, glaring back at him. “I'm going to get the full story on that the second _I'm_ out with her, believe me—and I'm sure the chief will want to know what harebrained crap you got into without informing us _again_. But for right now, the best thing _you_ can do to help is stay out of our way.”

Shawn rolled his eyes. “No, that's stupid, I can—”

“ _Shawn_!” Lassiter took a step toward him and whipped off his sunglasses in one movement, and when Shawn saw just how intense his gaze was, he subsided—for a moment. He really did know things, why couldn't they _ever_ just _believe_ him? “ _Thank_ you for not going back in there,” Lassie said then, his voice low and fast, his eyes locked on Shawn's. “You stayed out here like I told you, and that was the right thing to do. Now _continue_ to stay out here— _I_ will go in after them.” He paused, and behind him, coming up the street with the lights on but not the sirens, Shawn could see three black and whites approaching fast. When Shawn glanced at Lassie again, he could see how strained he was, and at the moment only part of it was due to the gunmen/thieves and the hostage situation. “ _You_ stay here,” Lassie said. “ _Safe_. Okay? Got it?”

He didn't like it. He hated knowing that he could help, that he should step up and do it anyway, to fix the situation he caused, but he was held in place by what else was in Lassie's face, in the way his eyes was focused on Shawn and Shawn alone, even though he probably could have already been sneaking up behind an art thief by now. Lassie was staying out here, though, trying to make Shawn understand that he knew him so well, and loved him so much, that he couldn't let himself make a move on the dangerous situation inside the building until he was absolutely sure that Shawn wasn't going to go ahead and drop himself into the middle of it. He was torn, and he had bare seconds to decide which way to go: either he could try to convince Lassie that they'd stay outside and then follow him in anyway, or he'd have to _actually_ stay outside and leave the situation to the trained professionals. 

What crap. Where was John McClane when you needed him? Yippie-ki-yay mother—

“Fine,” Shawn said steadily, just as a car with Detective Antillo riding shotgun pulled up next to Lassie's car. “Me and Gus will stay out here.”

Lassiter narrowed his eyes. “Promise.” He dropped his voice again so that the cops all around them, emerging from various cars, couldn't hear him. “I'm serious, Shawn. And you'd better mean it.”

Shawn huffed out a sigh of irritation. “I—” And then he froze, seeing Juliet walking up with Chief Vick and Head Detective Gates; he could tell from the set of her mouth and the way her shoulders were thrown back that she was tapped to go inside, and his stomach instantly dropped. _Both_ of them were going in? “Jules!” he called, and he tried to step forward.

Lassiter put a hand on his shoulder and shoved him back, but although he stumbled, he caught the way her head started to move as if to look for him, and then she deliberately turned away, turned only to her superior officers for her orders. “She wants you to stay here too,” Lassie snapped. “Out of the way. _Safe_. Now you promise me, or I'll be forced to—”

“Lassiter!” Gates hollered, and Shawn saw Lassie's mouth tighten. “What the hell are you doing? Quit _chatting_ and get over here, we have a hostage situation, or didn't you hear?”

Of course he heard, he must have been the one to alert the others! Shawn rolled his eyes, but Lassiter just gave him one last look, pointed at the car again, and then he turned and trotted over to receive his own orders.

“So, that's the plan, right?” Gus asked nervously. “They've totally got this one—Lassie and Jules will have it wrapped up before we know it, and then it's time for my snackal. I'll even share, Shawn. Shawn?”

Shawn barely heard his friend's blather; he was inadvertently following the instructions he'd been given by not taking another step, but that was mostly because he still felt frozen as he watched Juliet and Lassie speak shortly with Gates, Vick, Antillo, Buzz, and three other cops. Vick turned away and began speaking into a radio while Gates continued giving orders, and then, without looking around, Juliet (and Gates) made straight for the big loading door of the warehouse while Lassiter and Antillo headed around for the side entrance, each pair of detectives followed by two uniformed officers. Shawn's mouth dropped open, his heart in his throat as Lassie disappeared around the corner and Juliet stood next to the door, her back against the wall and her gun drawn. Gates gestured to a cop who was next to him, and he quickly ran up the door and then dived back just as Gates and Juliet stepped forward. They entered the warehouse, their guns taking the lead.

Just before he followed them in, Buzz glanced back and made eye contact with Shawn, who was still staring after them with his eyes huge and his mouth hanging open. He nodded to him seriously, and although his expression was no trouble for Shawn to read— _They're both going to be okay_ —it was difficult to believe.

.

When it was over, Juliet led a woman outside who was scratched from being thrown to the floor as shots were fired, but otherwise unharmed—although she was pissed like a bear that some painting had been stolen from her gallery and that it was likely hidden away in a dirty corner of the warehouse. She listened to her story sympathetically, guiding her over to Detective Antillo, who could take her initial statement after he deposited his own charge—a grade-A jerkoff that had called Juliet every name in the book when she came up behind him and knocked the gun from his surprised hands—into the back of a cruiser. She made eye contact with the chief, tilting her head toward Gus's car, toward Shawn, who was engaged in a sort of slap-fight with Gus (who was clearly trying to hold him back), and Vick nodded once before holding up a single finger. _Make it snappy._

She'd try, at least—she hurried over to Shawn, who unabashedly elbowed Gus in the solar plexus so that he could close the distance between them and throw his arms around her. “Jules,” he said, his voice sounding squeezed as he squeezed her. “Jules.”

“I'm okay,” she told him, hugging him back. “No one was hurt.”

He pulled back enough to look into her face. “Lassie?” he whispered.

“Yes, he's fine—the one we think is the leader resisted arrest and apparently wanted to get into a fistfight after his clip ran out.” She snorted a little, partly in nerves and partly in disbelief, and lowered her voice slightly. “The whole group was very vocal when it came to what they thought of being surrounded and of us getting the upper hand. One of them called Carlton a certain few slurs and he punched him in the face so hard he dropped like a stone.”

Shawn glanced behind her, and by the way the corners of his mouth quirked up she thought he must have seen Carlton then, dragging out the man who now had—and kind of deserved—a broken nose and a bloody mouth. “Good,” Shawn said, and then he looked at her again, his whole body seeming to slump with his relief. He put both hands on her face and kissed her, hugged her to him, and then leaned back enough to kiss her again. “That one's for him, if you can get to him before I do,” he said softly. “It's gonna be a late night.”

“Yes,” she agreed. “And you need to come down to the station too—both of you—to give your statements about your involvement.”

“Sure,” Shawn said, and he sighed tiredly. At least he looked better now than when she'd first glimpsed him, coming out of the warehouse; the whiteness of his face and the way his eyes were huge and staring had told her he'd been almost out of his mind with worry, which was understandable as both she and Carlton had put their lives on the line going in. “I'll see you there. I love you.” He hugged her again and spoke into her ear quickly before giving her a final kiss. “Both of you.” He let her go then and walked back to Gus, who had picked himself up and was still rubbing his stomach where Shawn's elbow had jabbed him. She waved at Gus and gave him a smile, and then she turned and trotted back to her car to take in the suspects.

.

Lassiter wasn't able to leave the PD until almost midnight, and when he finally turned his car off in Juliet and Shawn's parking lot, he was beyond exhausted. Juliet (and Shawn) had tried to hang around and wait for him, but after Juliet was curtly dismissed by Vick (who was rightfully furious with Shawn and Gus for pulling another one of their cockamamie stunts), they'd pretty much had no choice but to go home. Lassiter and Antillo had stayed, taking turns with each of the scum-suckers they'd apprehended, until all but one had confessed, and they had the word of the others against him anyway. To be fair, the day's events seemed to have worked out—no one seriously hurt, thieves in custody, a local area business-owner reunited with her stolen property, the department looking great on that night's newscast—but he was so tired his back was aching, and he still had a bone to pick with Shawn.

He forgot about it however—temporarily—when he got inside the apartment and closed the door behind him; as soon as the latch clicked, he was almost slammed against the door as Shawn threw himself into his arms and nuzzled his face into his neck.

“Lassie,” he breathed, squeezing him. “Hi. I love you. I'm sorry.”

Well, _now_ it was going to be difficult to read him the riot act. He probably knew it was coming, too, which explained the instant lovey-dovey business. Lassiter huffed and tried to push him back enough so that he could at least step away from the door, and when he caught Juliet's eye and the tilt of her head, he saw her sympathetic mood and hesitated. Her gaze dropped to Shawn's back, and then they rose back up to Lassiter's eyes and she gave him a look, the sort of look he could expect if she for some reason thought he was being unnecessarily rude or callous. He sighed, and put his arms around Shawn for a moment.

“Okay,” he said. “You did what I told you for the first time in your life, so points for that. Now—”

“Hey, I do what you tell me all the time,” Shawn said, leaning back enough to raise an eyebrow at him. “Unless you forgot a little thing called, 'Shawn, come over here and bend over my knee so I can spank you until you're just about ready to come in your shorts'.”

Lassiter snorted—of course he hadn't forgotten about that. The first part of the scenario might be good for reenactment, if nothing else. “You know what I mean—I'm talking about police matters. Now are you going to let me come in, or do I have to stand here all night?”

“I can _totally_ let you come in,” Shawn said, adding unneeded innuendo to the phrase, and then he grinned. “Or you can stand there. Whichever you want, although I'm kind of partial to the first option.”

“Are you?”

“Yeah,” Shawn said softly, serious again. He pulled his arms back from around Lassiter's waist and then put his hands on the back of his neck, pulling him down a little for a kiss. “I know you're a superawesome detective and the criminals of Santa Barbara wet themselves when you're on their cases,” he said, looking up at him solemnly. “But today was horrible. The two of you were in real danger, and I was... you know. Worried.” He glanced back over his shoulder and then he held one arm out; Juliet came forward to join them, and Shawn hugged them both to him tightly. “Okay, I was scared,” he said then. “I love you guys, and I can't imagine...”

Juliet hugged him back and then gave him another sympathetic look. “I'm sorry, sweetheart,” she said. “But we're cops. You know that's the job.”

“We do what we have to, what no one else will,” Lassiter said, and proudly. He hadn't thought twice about going into the warehouse with buffoons carrying firearms running around, that was what he _did_. The only thing that had stopped him at all that day was the knowledge that if he just bounded out of his car and into the scene, Shawn would have been right on his heels, and _he_ was the one that they couldn't have in danger. He was untrained, unofficial, unprofessional, un- _everything_ —except unloved. 

“Yeah,” Shawn said, and sighed. “I just... okay, whatever, it's over.” He looked up at Lassiter again, and his sober expression slowly melted into a smile. “You took so long to get home, Lassie... want to take me into the bedroom and fuck me slow until I beg you to slam me into next week?”

Lassiter grinned and kissed him, and then he moved forward fast, grabbing Shawn by the shoulders to march him into the bedroom and then throw him on the bed and climb on top of him. He had the plan in its entirety before they made it halfway across the living room—shove his dick inside Shawn and then hold it there, pinning him down and not moving until he was writhing and trying to jerk enough to fuck himself on the hard cock in his ass, forcing them both to stay still until clenching and squeezing on him wasn't enough and he _did_ beg for it, at which point he would get _plenty_. When he looked over his shoulder to smirk at Juliet, who was following with a satisfied look that said she'd already gotten hers but was more than up for a spectator status, he decided he wasn't that exhausted after all.


	8. Shawn Interrogates the Head Detective

**APRIL 2010**

  
Shawn Spencer was impulsive—he knew that, really. Most of the time it worked out for him, like his tendency to make quick judgments about people, and while it was sometimes true that he didn't often think to reevaluate them, and that ended up costing time, or money, or cases, he could usually take half a glance at a situation or person and know everything there was to know. Everything pertinent, anyway.

Take the most recent head detective for the SPBD, for example: Brian Randall Gates, age forty-four, lifelong resident of Santa Barbara, on the force since 1987 and a detective since '98. He was divorced, he played golf, he sucked down coffin nails at every available opportunity, and he had a persistent runny nose and hacking cough, the latter likely caused by the former. All of that was typical of a good forty to sixty percent of cops, but when Shawn first met him—as he worked a robbery case with Jules shortly after Lassy had moved to Georgia in '07—he'd seen several other things that had him frowning a little even before their handshake was finished. The first and foremost was that he was ambitious and highly combative: he was after the head detective job that Vick was getting ready to announce, and he would step on live bunnies to grab it. Other things were that he considered a day wasted if he didn't arrest someone (anyone, for anything, whether or not he thought they were guilty), he was mildly allergic to the material of his watch band but wore it anyway, he was homophobic (he'd assumed Shawn was gay due to his gelled hair and the flaily psychic vision performance he put on after deducing the next store to be robbed and made a face at him, then apparently thought he was going to limp fish his handshake upon introduction and deliberately tried to crush his hand), and he frequented young singles' bars (the stamp on the top of one hand, faded like he'd tried to wash it off and it hadn't gone yet). 

He was also sexist, having told Juliet in a mock-playful way that he didn't believe she was a detective, she was far too young and pretty; he'd also remarked to her, several months later, that he was a little disappointed in her for dating Shawn, and that if she was going to stay on top of her game as a cop she had to show that she wasn't like other women that fell for cheap palm readers because they were too afraid to end up alone. Gus had suggested Jules report that one to the chief, but she hadn't.

“He doesn't like you because you guys beat him to closing a case five times in the last two months,” she'd said, sitting on the edge of Shawn's desk in the Psych office. “He also lashed out at Detective Nittel for 'taking that quack's word for it' when he didn't pursue a suspect that a doctor's statement ruled out.”

“He also tried to convince Chief Vick not to pay us for two of those cases because Shawn's psychic hunch wasn't _good enough evidence_ ,” Gus mimicked.

Shawn had snorted and leaned back in his chair, putting both feet up and nearly knocking Jules's smoothie cup to the floor. “That's right, it wasn't. Not until he pretended they were _his_ hunches and beat us to the suspects.”

“Lucky for us the evidence he _could_ get was circumstantial and neither suspect would confess until you talked to them,” Gus said.

“Maybe a little competition isn't that bad,” Juliet suggested, moving her drink to the other side of the desk. “You beat me out of bed at least twice because you were so eager to show him up.”

Shawn shrugged. “Maybe. Kinda makes me miss Lassypants, though. He was at least fun to tease.”

Gus had rolled his eyes at that. “Whatever, Shawn. You keep trying to irritate Gates until we _don't_ get paid and our rent for this place comes out of my savings. Again.”

“Sorry, buddy—your yearly trip to the Jamaican Islands to find you a sweet love biscuit will happen. I believe in you, mon.” He gave his friend a big grin and tossed him the last fortune cookie to make up for breaking his accent ban.

Now, as he sat on a bench in the PD hallway, finishing an ice cream bar and watching Gates, who was watching Jules and Lassy as they came in from lunch together, Shawn came to two important realizations: the first was that Gates had despised Lassy for a reason, and still did hate him, and for that same reason, which didn't have all that much to do with the way Lassiter had led investigations. The second realization was that the first realization should have been dancing in the street wearing a purple chicken suit obvious, and that he was an idiot for not seeing it right away. Oh well. He could blame part of it on having just gotten into dating Juliet and beginning to find out that the amazing woman he only started off wanting to make smile and laugh was far more fitting for him than he'd ever even imagined.

 _Dude, no_ , Shawn thought, glancing back at Gates, who was at his desk in the corner and glaring at the end of the room where Lassy and Jules were, both settling down at their desks. He licked the rest of the chocolate from the stick and considered, just for a second, seeing if he could stick it to the back of Gates's jacket. Juliet would tear him apart. She should tear him apart. He should tell her so that she could tear him apart. Nah... then Lassy might want a shot, too, and that might go all kinds of messy, all except the good kinds. Shawn himself just found it funny, except for the fact of their relationship and what it might mean if Gates didn't stop having a hate-boner for Lassy and started actively watching him more carefully in order to get something on him. Someone ought to nip this in the butt. Except for two things: one, it was probably going to have to be him, and two, eww. Shawn stood and tossed his popsicle stick into the trash so that he wouldn't be tempted on his way over to Gates's desk, his hands in his pockets and his mind a careful blank until he got going and could trust in the moment to tell him what to do and say.

He dropped into a chair near Gates's desk and wheeled himself over, leaning over so that he could whisper. “Hey man,” he said softly, and the head detective snapped his neck around fast, either because he didn't want someone to see him glaring at another detective, or because it was Shawn that was so close to him. Shawn ignored it and tilted his head toward Lassy. “Someone's a big fan of an early lunch,” he said. “Oh, look. It's my girlfriend. And some other dude.”

Gates gave him a measuring glance and then looked back down at the pile of notes on his desk. “That other dude used to be her partner, which I'm sure you're aware of,” he said.

“Sure, Sassy Lassy,” Shawn said, and decided to try something to see if Gates would give him a snide remark and tell him to get lost, or if he would say something about his predecessor that he now outranked. “He never liked me when he was Top Banana around here.”

Gates's eyes flicked over to him for a second, and then he glanced over at Jules again, very quickly, before rearranging some of the papers on his desktop. “She has lunch with him about once a week,” he said lightly. “Your psychic hoohah tell you about that?”

“How do you know?” Shawn asked, pitching his voice to simply ask for evidence instead of sounding accusatory or disbelieving. His instincts were pinging insistently now, telling him to be careful.

“I'm a detective—you know, like you're not.” Gates snorted. “You treat her real well, hotshot. It's not hard to see why she might be checking out fallback options.”

Shawn blinked. “Like Lassiter?”

“He was her partner,” Gates said again, gathering some papers into a file folder. “You heard about the one he was boffing before she got transferred here, I'm sure.”

Well, yes—Shawn had been the one to realize they'd been _boffing_ and called them on it when they were getting ready to arrest him. Gates stood up quickly and started walking down the hall, toward the entrance, and Shawn made a spur-of-the-moment decision to follow him and see if he could glean any more information about what he'd seen, what he knew. 

When Gates got outside and realized Shawn was trailing him, he scowled deeply and pointed back toward the parking lot. “Nobody called for a crystal gazer here today, Spencer. If you were trying to find your 'girlfriend' for lunch, somebody beat you to it—too bad, so sad—but you don't have any business here. Get on your little scooter and beat it.”

“Juliet loves me,” Shawn said steadily. “You've said a crapload about her ever since I sat down, and it sounds to me like you've got more to say. So go on, I'm curious.” He put his fingers to his forehead and closed his eyes. “I'm getting a feeling, but it's conflicted. You don't like Lassiter, but everyone knows that.” He opened his eyes and folded his arms. “What I want to know is what that has to do with her.”

Gates rolled his eyes. “Like I'd tell you. Why don't you go pour some more coffee on my desk, smart ass.”

“Hey, that was the spirits' fault—I tried to tell them you needed decaf instead, but they didn't even hear me out on that.”

“I know why you did it, and you know I know, so save it.” 

_What?!_ No he didn't! ...right? Shawn stared at his back as he went over to his car and opened the front door, tossing his notes into the front seat. Nope, that just wasn't going to work for him. He quickly went over and opened the passenger side just as Gates was starting the car; he grabbed the stack of papers and then held them on his lap as he dropped onto the seat.

“Get the fuck out of my car!” Gates snapped. “Give me those or I'll arrest you!”

Shawn could see his hands on the steering wheel, gripping it tightly, and he recognized the ink pattern on the back of his hand near the wrist: it was the house stamp of the Glass Cat club, which had half-priced drinks every Thursday. Tomorrow was Saturday, which was when they held their weekly amateur pole-dancing competition. He winced sharply, held his fingers near his eyebrow again, and did his best to mimic the sound Siddy had made when Lassy had accidentally stepped on his tail that morning. “ _Mraow!_ Ah! The spirits are telling me there's a _breakable feline_ in your future, man—I'm not sure what it means, but it could be that you're going to run over a little kitty cat today. I'll be your extra eyes—no one wants to hear the sound of a bag of broken cats _swinging against a pole_ , right?”

Gates blinked, staring at him, and then he seemed to realize his jacket sleeve had ridden up a bit, failing to hide the top of his hand. He didn't jerk it off the wheel, which would have brought attention to it, but he did tilt it up. Shawn looked at him innocently, waiting. “What do you want?” Gates asked finally. 

Shawn shrugged. “Lunch. But you told me Jules already ate.”

“With Lassiter,” Gates confirmed, his top lip lifting slightly in a sneer.

“So... what, you think he's trying to steal her away from me, or something?”

“Look, I'm not surprised you don't know, since your psychic bullshit is actually pretty thin,” he said, the sneer full frontal now. “But he has a history of making it with women on the force, in his own department _and_ others. I'll be damned if I know why they go for him—he's so full of himself, and not even with good reason—but he wasn't back here two weeks before I saw him smiling at her and bringing her coffee. She's too nice to say anything.”

Shawn frowned for show, thinking that this dick didn't know her at all if he didn't realize a) if someone was seriously bothering her, she'd put a stop to it and b) she picked her battles. “What else?”

Gates rolled his eyes. “I don't have time to spell it out for you, much as I'd actually kind of like to see you and him go head-to-head—I don't even know who'd I'd bet on, and that's the God's honest.”

 _We were head-to-head last night, so there_ , Shawn thought. He was then very relieved when he realized that Gates knew nothing about Lassiter and him, i.e. the real reason he'd poured the coffee on his desk, otherwise he wouldn't be implying they were headed for a fight over Jules. Even before Lassy had moved away they'd never fought over her, and never did now, not counting arguments over who was going to get to make her come first, which usually ended with Lassy pinning Shawn down and then cuffing him to the headboard in order to get first dibsies. 

“I used to think your jackass routine was funny,” Gates was continuing. “Back when I'd hear about you showing him up every week. I didn't know you were mostly doing it to try to impress her. Believe me when I tell you that now that I'm in charge and I'm not putting up with your crap, her interest in you is waning.” He gave Shawn a look that was probably supposed to be 'experienced older man slightly exasperated with cocky young gun' but ended up being half 'bitch please' and half 'I likely have a wedgie and it's tickling my brain stem'. “I've seen her kind time and time again on the force, and they're all the same. They like the danger, and they like the authority, but what they really like—what they really _need_ —is a man who can feel secure enough to let them go play during the day, but keep them safe from everything they know is out there at night. You're not it.”

Shawn had to fight a feeling of rising bile in his throat at the thought of Gates indicating that _he_ was. Back on subject. “And... Lassiter is?”

Gates snorted and rolled his eyes, but then he shrugged. “A hell of a lot more than you are.”

“So... that's it, then? You think he's going to steal my girlfriend?” That Juliet was just a wittle goil who couldn't decide for herself who she wanted, and she was going to tragically be left to the winner of a mano a mano battle for the lady's hand? Shawn couldn't help but to imagine that: Lassiter was taller and heavier than he was, a trained police officer who knew how to handle weapons other than just firearms. Shawn could totally kick his ass at Mortal Kombat, though—up down up down _finish him._

“I think you need to get the hell out of my car and figure out your problems on your own.”

“Okay, I will... just one more question.”

“You don't get to decide—”

“Why do you care?” Shawn asked, looking at him full on in the way Gus had repeatedly described as 'creepy and intense'. 

Gates blinked, so it was working. “What?”

“Why do you care,” Shawn repeated slowly, “who she's dating or what's going on in her personal life. Why do you care who she has lunch with. You obviously don't give a crap if I end up alone, so I'm curious: what's it to you if my girlfriend's former partner is grabbing her some coffee or eating a sandwich in her company?”

“ _You_ don't care if he is?” Gates raised his eyebrows now.

Shawn shrugged, thinking that he might get him to admit what he suspected now. “She loves me, and I trust her. Why do you care if I care? I know you don't like me, _and_ you don't like Lassiter, so—wait.” He closed his eyes and put his fingers on his forehead again. “It's not about me—you don't like me, but only _part_ of it is my abilities. You don't like Lassiter, but only part of that is the job—and you didn't always feel that way. At first, you actually thought he had the head detective job for a reason, that his arrest record and investigative methods were amazing. No, you didn't start to not like him until... it started just a few months before he moved away.”

“You don't know what you're talking about,” Gates nearly snapped, and Shawn fought an urge to open his eyes and see what his face looked like.

“It started... when? Jules?” He tilted his head as if he was studying a picture. “I see Jules? And Lassiter—they're both in Chief Vick's office. She's new—she just moved here. They're looking at each other... now they're leaving the chief's office... they go to Lassiter's desk, he's telling her something about a case... because she's just a junior detective, and he's been assigned as her partner.” Now he did open his eyes, and he wasn't at all surprised to see that Gates was glowering at him. “Why would you not like Lassiter because the chief chose him to teach a new detective?” Shawn said, as if he was bewildered. “He _was_ the head detective, he had the most impressive record for as young as he was when he started, he was best suited to rock the law suit. Did you want to be a teacher when you grew up? You can tell me—I like teachers, even if they liked to snitch to my dad about how I could never follow directions or pay attention.”

“That's a shock.”

“Right? How could any kid be expected to care about forty minutes of long division when there were perfectly good ChiPs reruns to watch?” Shawn paused. “So... why is it you're hating on Lassy for being Jules' partner before? He's not now.”

“Then why are they still... close?” Gates asked pointedly. “He was gone for almost a year and suddenly comes back, and there he is, taking _your_ girlfriend out to lunch every week and smiling at her and looking at her when her back is turned.”

Shawn almost rolled his eyes—this guy wouldn't quit with the deflecting. He was actually pretty good at it, trying to tap into the jealousy fountain, which was actually a fairly good bet with most guys. And, truth be told, if the three of them didn't have what they did together, it would have probably worked, and Shawn knew that despite his trust in Jules, he would have at the least amped up his old 'tease Lassiter until his ears go red and he starts throwing people into walls' routine—which may or may not have also had to do with how sexy it was when Lassy's eyes blazed and he clenched his jaw and started flinging people (e.g., Shawn) around.

The question for now, though, was how to play this: he could go with it, be super thankful at him for looking out for his relationship status, indicating that Juliet was an empty-headed floozy about to break his heart and run off to raise a litter with Lassy. He could refuse to play that game, insisting on knowing what this guy thought Lassy and Jules had to do with each other, and why Gates was practically charting them like migrating birds. He could call him on his deflecting. He could passively threaten him into admitting that while he didn't like Lassiter one bit, and thought Shawn was nothing more than an attention-seeking moron, the whole thing—all of his animosity toward Lassy, his disdain for Shawn, his tallying how often Juliet was friendly with her former partner and then trying to turn that into rivalry between him and her boyfriend—was because of Jules.

He should rub it in.

“That's right, she is _my_ girlfriend,” Shawn said. “She could have anyone she wanted, and she picked me.” He grinned slowly, not missing the way Gates's lips pressed together a little more. “She's the most amazing woman I've ever known, Gates, and I've known a lot. She's a lot smarter than you give her credit for; she knows what she wants, she goes after it, and she gets it. She doesn't need to make a huge frocking deal about herself, because she _is_ a huge frocking deal, and anyone that can't recognize that isn't worth her time. I can see into people, you know. I really can. When I see into her, she blows my mind _and_ my heart.” He paused, changing the slant of his grin into a smirk. “When I see into _you_? I see... green, slimy jealousy. Possessiveness, but snubbed. She chose me and she loves me; she would _never_ chose someone like you.”

“What the hell makes you think I'd want her?” Gates snapped, his eyes narrowed.

Shawn snorted. “Who _wouldn't_ want her? I know you do, though.” He tapped his eyebrow again. “That's why you're bothering to give a crap who she has lunch with, because it's not you.”

“No, it's Lassiter—can you see into him, smart ass?”

Shawn paused, but just for half a second, and he didn't think Gates noticed. “Sure. Why?”

“ _I_ don't need to call upon the spirits of the Great Rainbow Fairy to know _he_ wants her. You're stupider than your pansy-ass hairdo if you can't see it. He's always wanted her, and it won't be long before she sees it and realizes how little of a man you are compared to him. Which is really saying something, considering how much of a pansy _he_ is.”

The implication being that Gates was the manliest man that ever manned, and that Jules of _course_ would go weak at the knees once someone presented the facts of that to her, and her female instincts would be powerless to fight her biological desire to throw herself at him, leaving anyone else she professed to love in the dust. Shawn was going to laugh for three hours when he got home. “Dapper Dan the Stringbean Man is not a threat to me, dude,” he said. “Quit trying to make me froth and go fight for m'lady's honor, or something. All that comes down to is do I trust her, and I do. If she wants to have lunch with every cop on the force, all I'm going to ask her about it is did she bring me any leftovers.” He paused again. “Which she hasn't. Damn. Anyway, the issue here is apparently that you're all mad she's friends with Lassiter, because they used to be partners, and she still has lunch with him sometimes or smiles at him if he grabs her a cup of coffee while he's getting his own. There's no reason that should put a twist in your undies unless you want that to be you. And, since you keep harping about that _and_ that you think she should leave me, my spidey senses tingle in the direction of you wanting her.”

Gates wiggled his fingers and made ghosty woos. “Big fucking revelation, _psychic_. You really think I don't know that's why you poured coffee all over my desk? I'm honestly surprised you didn't put a thumbtack in my chair.”

Shawn gave him a sweet smile that he hoped showed off condescension. “You're not a threat to me either, man. As for the coffee, the spirits really did make me do that—I really didn't know you had a thing for _my_ girlfriend then.”

“Riiiight, so it was just a coincidence you did that the day after Vick asked me if I would mind her being assigned to me since her _partner_ was leaving town.”

That stopped him—he really hadn't known that Gates being Juliet's partner was once on the table, and he was fairly certain she didn't know, either; she'd never mentioned it, anyway. 

“Then why weren't you?” Shawn asked, frowning. “She's a great partner: she does whatever it takes to get the job done, and she's loyal as hell—her partner is like her family. After Lassiter left and she spent five or six months with Jamison, she would have backed him up if it meant her life.” He'd really liked Derek Jamison, who hadn't minded a bit that Juliet didn't need much of his teaching; he'd let her take point on cases after just a few weeks, he listened to her ideas and followed up on her intuitions, and he shared the credit equally when they'd solved a case or collared a suspect. He hadn't cared that much for Shawn and Gus and their psychic act, but because he respected Juliet, who had just started dating Shawn, he tried not to let it show as long as Shawn's hunches didn't waste too much time and were accurate or led to a closed case at least three out of five times. That was more leniency than Lassy had given him before he'd moved, and Jamison had been nice enough to both Shawn and Gus as long as a case wasn't involved, so Shawn had liked him. When he'd transferred to Seattle to live with his fiancee and her kids, Vick had taken his recommendation that Juliet was solid enough on her own feet to not require any more training, and since then she'd only worked with a partner when a case was major high-profile, or if one needed solving super extra family-size fast.

Gates gave Shawn another glare for his last question. “Vick knew I wanted the head detective job, and I told her I'd rather focus on that than training a junior.”

“But that was before she started going out with me,” Shawn persisted. “Why didn't you try to get in there first?”

“After watching Lassiter make eyes at her for almost a year and getting nowhere? I figured she just wasn't going to be into dating a cop. Then she started hooking up with _you_ and I thought I was right.”

“But you think she's going to leave me for Lassiter. He's still a cop.”

“That's what I thought _then_ ,” Gates said, rolling his eyes. “But that's not it. She's just one of those women that has little rules for everything, and she's too serious about police work to muck it up by hooking up with her partner. Lassiter isn't her partner _now_.”

“No, but I'm her boyfriend now.” And Lassiter was too, but that was semantics. Shawn tossed the folder and the papers he was still holding into Gates's lap. “Good talk, man. Make sure to send me your weekly projections on Juliet's lunchtimes so I know when to be all mad that she didn't bring me a cupcake.”

He got out of the car and quickly slammed the door behind him, hoping that his exit was smooth enough to give off the impression that his ego was so wrapped in a warm taffy of smugness that he totally didn't find it super creepy that Gates was noticing anything about Juliet's lunchtimes at _all_. Creepy _and_ stalkery, he thought with a little shudder as he sauntered over to his bike and sat on it long enough to watch Gates's taillights as they left the parking lot and disappeared around the corner. When he was gone, Shawn got up again and headed back into the station to do a little more reconnaissance.


	9. Yes We Can Can (Plan Plan)

Later, with both Jules and Lassy both heading home for the apartment together (but in their separate cars), Shawn was just finishing setting the table for their dinner (some chicken thing that had been slow-cooking before Shawn had gotten up that day, which was giving the whole place a smell that would make Colonel Sanders eat his chicken liver out) and still thinking about how he was going to tell them about everything he'd found out that day.

Juliet arrived first, and she was in a great mood, judging by the way she dropped her briefcase on the coffee table, went to the kitchen doorway, waited for Shawn to look at her, and then opened her shirt and used her thumbs to flip up her bra. She did a little dance, making her breasts swing back and forth, all while keeping an extremely innocent look on her face.

Shawn grinned hugely. “I had a back order for a set of those—is this my delivery?”

“I don't know,” she said, and licked her lips. “Can you pay the handling charges?”

“I don't know what they are, but ohgodyes.”

Jules laughed and let her bra fall back into place, but she didn't rebutton her shirt. “Let me get changed; Carlton will be here any minute, then we can have dinner. I'm starving and that smells great.”

“I'm starving and you look great,” Shawn said. “I'm pretty sure I'm going to need a piece of you for dessert.”

She gave him another grin and headed into the bedroom. Shawn wasn't sure what kind of wine went with whatever Lassy had thrown into the crock pot before he'd gone to work, and he didn't really care for wine, so he took a chance and opened a fresh bottle of white for Jules, poured Lassy a Scotch, and made himself a Psychdriver. He grabbed a container of cut pineapple from the fridge and was just garnishing his glass with small wedges when the front door opened and closed, and he looked up to see Lassy in the doorway looking annoyed. Shawn pointed to the table and the drink without a word, and Lassy's eyes narrowed for a moment before he flopped down at the table and downed half of it. 

Juliet came back into the kitchen in a skirt and a tee, but no bra. She saw Shawn noticing this and grinned at him again before realizing that Lassy was there and Very Not Pleased about something; she sat down next to him and put one elbow on the table, stuck her chin into her hand, and raised her eyebrows at him.

Lassy realized both Juliet and Shawn were looking at him and wondering what was wrong, and he shrugged with one shoulder before emptying his glass and nudging it toward Shawn, who was still standing near the counter. Shawn made eye-contact with Jules and saw by a twitch of her eyes in Lassy's direction that she wanted them to get him to speak first, since he was clearly upset by something, and Shawn agreed by keeping his mouth shut and just refilling Lassy's drink before sitting down with his own. Lassiter reached for his glass and then paused, looking at Shawn suspiciously. Shawn shrugged and licked a piece of pineapple off the edge of his glass; Lassy looked at Jules, who smiled at him and laid a hand over his arm. 

Lassiter sighed heavily and had a gulp of his fresh drink before leaning back in his chair. “Sorry,” he said finally. “I'm not mad at either of you.”

“I'm not mad at this dinner you made,” Shawn said. “I'm not even sure what it is, but I'm ready to put it in my face.”

“It's just chicken and vegetables and herbs.”

“It smells wonderful,” Juliet said.

“Good,” Lassiter said after a pause. “Well, let's eat it.”

Shawn loaded his plate, not even bothering to pick out the carrots. He wasn't sure how to bring up his conversation with Gates now, since Lassy had apparently had such a crappy day, but he knew it shouldn't be put off, either. Lassy usually claimed that he preferred to get all bad news at once, so that he could deal with it all in a chunk, but Shawn had observed that dumping more crap on him when he was already in a terrible mood was a good way to get him to lose control of keeping his rage in a cage. Maybe he could just tell Jules... but he was certain she'd insist on telling Lassy right away anyway. He suddenly wondered if it was Gates that had put Lassy into such a state of piss-off... that would make sense, if Gates was also irritated by the conversation he'd had with Shawn earlier. Shawn glanced at Juliet again, but she was already studying Lassy, and he relaxed enough to stuff a huge chunk of potato into his mouth, sure that she would figure out the best way to get it out of him.

“I heard today that Renaldo Mina was sentenced to twenty-five years,” she said suddenly. 

Lassiter glanced up at her, his eyebrows raised for a second before nodding. “Good. I would have given him forty myself, but I'm just the one that arrested him.”

“He would have deserved forty,” Jules said. “I saw the pictures.” She shook her head. “How anyone could do that to another person. It makes me sick.”

“Me too.”

“Today I made some great progress on the Saville Street arson,” she went on. “I've got it narrowed down to three suspects, though I'm almost certain I know who it was. I just need a confession or a _little_ more evidence.” She glanced across the table. “Shawn? What did you do today?”

“I... poked around,” he said carefully. “Gus was at his 'real job', whatever that is, and I found that old lady's dead husband's mistress yesterday—they were actually perfectly happy to split his will. Weird.” He paused for a beat and picked up his drink for another sip. “What'd you do, Lassykins?”

Lassiter gave him a look that was more exasperation than usual. “I said no, Shawn, cut it out.”

“Sorry.”

“I can handle the _one_ nickname, that one's fine now.”

“Okay,” Shawn said, trying to be agreeable. 

Lassy sighed. “I'm sorry. I don't mean to snap at you. I just... I had a really crappy day.”

“What happened?” Juliet asked.

“Just... Gates, being a—“ He looked at Shawn. “Line.”

“Twatgoblin,” Shawn said at once. “Assbasket. Clumpy dingleberry empire. The only pisstrumpet stupid enough to make a wiseass remark to Chuck Norris.”

Shawn grinned proudly when that one made Lassy crack a smile at last. “Yes,” he said. “All of those. I don't know which hair was laying across his ass the wrong way, but he came back after lunch and railed me for half an hour about how I didn't have arrests made for five different cases yet—cases I got _this_ week.”

“Rude,” Shawn said. “Railing you is _my_ job.”

“Very rude,” Lassy agreed, and made a face at his dinner. “I wish I knew what the hell caused him to have such a problem all of the sudden. The chief hasn't given me any indication that I need to close those cases five minutes ago.”

“He's just jealous of your sweet stern bush,” Shawn said.

“I somehow doubt that.”

“I'm kind of jealous of it.” Shawn licked his fork and then leaned over and undid the top two buttons of Lassy's shirt and laid it open. “Ahh,” he said. “There it is.” He looked at Jules. “Is it weird that I kind of want to lick it?”

“After dinner,” she said. “Don't forget about dessert.”

“Like there was a chance I would.” Shawn grinned at Lassy, who was giving him a look Gus had once described as 'patient exasperation'. “Gates has a ton about you to be jealous of,” he said, going serious. “And I'm sorry, but that's actually what his problem is. We, um, had a talk today.”

Immediately, the atmosphere of the room changed, Lassiter's eyes sharpening and Juliet looking up quickly, warily. “A talk about what?” Lassy asked.

“About him,” Shawn said. “And about why he's... kind of watching you two.”

“What?” Lassiter demanded. “Why?”

“We haven't been doing anything,” Jules said, confused.

“I know, but he's still watching. Closely. It's okay for now, I think,” Shawn said slowly. “He's jealous, not suspicious—of us, anyway.” He looked at Lassy. “He's aiming a _very_ hairy eyeball your way, though—so hairy that José Eber wouldn't touch it.”

“Jealous?” Juliet frowned. “Of what?”

“Of me,” Lassiter said, managing to scowl and look pleased at the same time. “I checked his records when I got back—he just had to have my job, and start telling people how he was going to put my legacy in the dust, yet Shawn showed him up half a dozen times in, what, a month?”

Shawn grinned, not mentioning how many times he'd shown up Lassy himself in the beginning, or that it had been closer to two months before the count was Psych: 6, Gates: 0. “I may have worked my ass off in order to whip up my own special recipe of crow for him to snack on. He is jealous of you, Lassy, but he's also jealous of me, and most of it has nothing to do with how much better at solving cases we are.” He made a face at Jules. “Seriously, _why_ did the head detective spot go to him? Was there no one else in the whole department that wanted it? _Buzz_ didn't want it?”

“McNab is an officer, not a detective, and only a fair one at that,” Lassiter grumbled.

Juliet had shrugged. “He makes progress on multiple cases just about daily, and he makes tons of arrests.”

“Yeah. Tons. Like, everyone,” Shawn said, rolling his eyes. “That man would probably arrest Iron Man for being metal as fuck.”

“He was also clearly the most interested and he had the most seniority after Carlton,” Jules went on, frowning. “So, why do you think he's jealous of you two?”

“Because of you,” he said. “Vick was going to assign him as your new partner after Lassy left, since you were still a junior detective, and as you said he had the most experience, but he parried that because he assumed you weren't the type to get involved with your partner, since Lassy has a rep for getting too personal and yet you two never were back then.”

Lassiter looked indignant. “I do not!”

“Yes you do,” Shawn and Juliet said at once.

“Why do you think I brought it up with you so soon after transferring and being assigned to you?” she asked. “I'd heard about you and Detective Barry almost right away when people saw us working together.” She paused. “Gates _didn't_ want me to be his partner _because_ I didn't get involved with my previous partner.”

“Yup,” Shawn said, bracing himself for the gross-out. “He has a thing for you, Jules. A big thing.” He glanced at Lassy, who looked horrified. “Probably not as big as yours. Or mine, actually.” He made a face, having grossed himself out a little, and then turned back to Juliet, who also looked as if she could have gone the rest of her life without picturing that. “I'm really, really sorry sweetheart, but that man has a giant crush on you. He thought I knew—he thought that's why I poured coffee on his desk, that I thought you would wise up and dump me and go for him. A real man, or something.”

“Ewwwwwww,” Jules said, her voice small and her face still stricken.

Shawn nodded. “I know—I already threw up in my mouth a little.”

“So he's jealous of you because she's with you, and he's jealous of me because we used to be partners?” Lassy asked.

“Well... that and... it's kind of going around that you two are pretty close,” Shawn said carefully. “Not everyone knows about us going to Macon to see you, or the shoot-up we ended up attending, but some do. And Gates himself told me that he's noticed you two having lunch together all the time.”

“Not all the time!” Lassy said quickly.

“About once a week?”

“He said that?” Jules asked, her eyebrows raised. 

Shawn nodded. “He kept trying to make _me_ jealous about it, and when I didn't bite, he just kept repeating that you guys are, like, friendly while at work.” He told them how he'd noticed Gates first watching them when they'd come back from lunch, and how he'd followed him out to the car, and the conversation that followed.

Lassiter looked supremely pissed, and Jules glanced at him to exchange their 'oh crap' look before looking back at Shawn, slightly rueful. “I'm sorry, Shawn.”

He blinked, surprised. “What for? I don't care if you guys have lunch? I'm usually eating with Gus or picking candy corn out of my pockets while I'm sneaking around somewhere. Although it probably wouldn't kill you to bring me back something, sheesh. I demand leftovers, or at _least_ some of those delicious little mints that melt in your mouth.”

“No... we got so angry about what happened when Buzz saw you two in the file room, and how it could cause rumors, and then we didn't even realize—“

“That's different,” Lassiter said at once. “McNab witnessed proof, which as you know is miles above hearsay.”

“Agree,” Shawn said. “What I got from talking to Gates, and asking a couple of little birdies, is just that... there are starting to be rumors. I mean, Fleetwood Mac did really well with them, so maybe it's not that big a deal.”

“I'm not Stevie Nicks,” Juliet reminded him.

“And didn't everyone in that band break up?” Lassy asked.

“Okay, bad analogy.”

“This is exactly what we said we needed to be careful of,” Jules said quietly. “What are the worst of the rumors?”

Shawn shrugged. “I don't know—I couldn't ask too much without sounding paranoid or making them worse. I split a hundred bucks between a janitor and a file clerk: the janitor told me all he'd heard is a little of the 'nudge-nudge wonder if there's something going on there', and the clerk said she'd heard about Jules shooting some guy in Macon, and asked me if I was there too, because she'd also heard I was.”

“What'd you tell her?”

“That my psychic senses take me all sorts of places in all kinds of ways.”

Lassiter looked at Juliet, his face set. “We have to nip this in the bud, right now.”

“Butt,” Shawn said.

Lassy glanced at him. “But what?”

“Nipping. In the butt.”

Lassy stared at him for a moment, and then Jules said, “Bud. You nip something in the bud—like with flowers, so they don't grow.”

“Why would biting something on the butt help?” Lassy asked.

Shawn shrugged. “I don't know. To stop it? I've heard it both ways.”

Lassy rolled his eyes and sighed. “Whatever. The point is... I guess lunch wasn't as harmless as we thought.”

“Lots of cops have lunch together,” Jules said, frowning. “That shouldn't mean anything.”

“No, it shouldn't, but with Gates on my ass because he already doesn't like me, and it turns out he _does_ like you, far too much for my liking—“

“And mine,” Shawn added, making another grossed-out face. 

Juliet nodded and made a face. “And mine. I never did like him that much, and I've once or twice thought he was kind of creepy, but... brr.” She shuddered. “So no more lunches, and only talk at work when there's lots of people around, and it's case-related.” 

Lassy was scowling deeply again, and when he turned to Shawn he had his lips pressed together before speaking. “I want you to help me with a few cases, if you wouldn't mind,” he said grudgingly. “Just help. And just you, not Psych. You can't be paid because it needs to look like I'm doing it alone. I need to get back on top in a hurry.”

Shawn gave him a smile. “Anytime.”

“Of my caseload.”

Shawn nodded, still grinning. “I know. Anytime. Just get me the files or think up an excuse for me to come down to the station and bother Jules if I need to talk to a suspect or look at evidence. You know how much it pleases me when you're on top.”

“Right. Thank you.” Lassiter looked at Juliet, frowning again. “If that clown says anything inappropriate to you, let me know. God help him if he _does_ anything—“

“Thank you, Carlton,” Jules cut him off, looking slightly amused. “I can handle that situation if it arises.”

Lassy looked at Shawn, probably hoping to be backed up, but Shawn simply shrugged and nodded his head toward Juliet. “She's got this,” he said. “I was really close to just telling her as soon as I found out today, so that she could throw up all over his face the next time she saw him, but boy howdy would that have been unladylike.”

“Unprofessional,” Juliet corrected, leaning back in her chair and draping one leg over the other, not fixing her skirt when it rode up her thigh. She saw both men looking—Lassiter at her thigh, Shawn at her breasts—and smiled. “The latest edition of Beautiful Bitch Behavior clearly states that showing a potential suitor the reversal of your last meal in response to goblinish conduct is perfectly acceptable, provided that the man in question is already such a mountain of shit that rubbing more on him would be an exercise in futility.”

“That's disgusting,” Lassiter said. 

“It really is!” Shawn agreed, slapping his hand on the table. “Girls have so many rules they have to follow. As a man, I'm proud to say I can blow my breakfast anywhere I please, without having to consult the manual!”

Jules sighed. “Guys have it so easy.”


	10. The Twenty-Six-Per-Cent Solution

Lassiter had a bad feeling from the moment he saw the back of Shawn's head as he ducked downstairs at the police station. He'd known he was coming, of course—they'd spent several hours the previous night poring over Lassiter's current caseload in order to determine what help Shawn might be with any of them, and after he'd all but solved one of them (simply tapping an area of a crime scene photo that proved a previously-identified victim was actually a suspect) and gave Lassiter suggestions on another (suggestions that were almost sure to produce a robbery culprit before the day was out), he'd frowned for nearly ten minutes at the contents of another case folder before declaring that he wanted to see the evidence box. 

“Why?” Lassiter had asked him eagerly. He had a total of six cases assigned to him at the moment, and if he put paid to half of them within the next _day_ , that should surely get Gates off _his_ case. Chief Vick hadn't said boo about them, but she _had_ praised the department's current head detective for his _motivation_ of other detectives and his own solve rate just a couple of weeks ago. Lassiter was more than sorry he'd transferred away, for more reasons than he'd ever imagined.

Shawn had just shrugged. “I'm a bear climbing a mountain,” he said. “I just want to see what I can see.”

So there he was, heading down to the file room, and while Juliet had made a point of distracting Officer Stanley, who was the most likely person to discover Shawn and throw him out, Lassiter frowned down at his desk, not liking it. It wasn't just Shawn being around, he realized after a few moments—Shawn was frequently around, especially since he and Guster had been hired by Chief Vick for three cases in the last two months, and it was well-known that he was Juliet's boyfriend—but there was definitely _something_ pinging at him, and he didn't like it. A good detective was many things, and twenty-six percent intuition was one of them; when his own sent up red flags, he examined them carefully, applying his standard ratio of thirty-eight percent logical reasoning, twenty-nine percent tactical maneuvering, and three percent double-checking himself.

“What's the other four percent?” Juliet had once asked him, years ago when he'd been training her and explained the division of a sharp detective's mind.

“Other peoples' input,” he'd answered promptly. “I've recently had a reevaluation and raised it from three percent.” She hadn't asked what that reevaluation had entailed, which had been a relief at the time, since most of it had been her.

After ten minutes had gone by and the feeling Lassiter was having (that something was going to happen and that it wouldn't be pleasant) hadn't abated, he got up from his desk, grabbing his coffee mug at the last moment, and went down the hall at a brisk pace, sticking a warning scowl on his face in case anyone considered stopping him with minutiae. He turned his head toward the direction Shawn had gone, but he didn't see anything out of place, or anyone lingering around. He went into the new break room and straight for the coffee pot, only to discover that it was empty. He glared at it, and then decided that it might actually be useful—it would give him a reason to stand around for a few minutes, waiting for more to brew, while he checked his phone or sent a text message to Shawn. 

He'd just finished measuring more grounds into the coffee machine when someone else came in behind him; he slid his eyes to the side, saw Officer Pete Mullins saunter over to the vending machine and inspect the array of candy, and decided to ignore him in favor of flipping his phone open and checking for messages. Nothing. His finger hovered over Shawn's contact number, which was simply labeled “SS”, not wanting to tell him to leave if he was in the middle of discovering something that would break the case wide open and send a drug gang's leader to hell (or San Quentin, whichever). However, Shawn had said time and time again that _his_ whole life ran on his intuition, and Lassiter had to admit that it almost always (eventually) steered him in the right direction. Shawn was a big advocate of hunches, of following “a feeling”, and since learning about Shawn's true abilities, Juliet had been more inclined to pick at the strings that nudged her own suspicions, regardless of how specific they were. Lassiter felt sure that if they knew how strongly he was feeling that something was wrong, they would both encourage acting on it, aborting the mission for the present in order to reevaluate the evidence and the situation, to regroup and strike again later with full confidence. 

_I am not jumping at shadows_ , he told himself firmly, opening a blank text message to Shawn and typing _GO HOME._

“Hey there, Lassiter,” the other man in the room said loudly, and he snapped his head up. Mullins had a KitKat bar in one hand, a bottle of Sprite in the other, and a shit eating grin on his face.

Lassiter frowned again. “Mullins. Can I help you with something?”

“Nah, just having a little break, thought I'd say hi.” He sat at one of the folding tables and then held up the candy bar. “Want a piece? It's made for breaks, like the commercial says.”

“No thank you.” Lassiter turned away from him slightly, hit send on his phone, dropped it back into his pocket, and checked the progress of the coffee—which he then realized he hadn't actually turned on, and he quickly flicked the switched to brew. It was very quiet in the break room with only the minor whirring of the machine and the soft sound of carbonation as Mullins opened his soda. 

“Oh, hey,” Mullins said suddenly, causing Lassiter to look at him sharply again. He was still grinning, but his eyes were now very bright, something Lassiter decided immediately that he didn't like. “I was taking my girl out for a ride last night—it's great bike weather, you know?—and I thought I saw your car over on Graham Street, over by the Garrett-Byrd apartments. That's where Detective O'Hara lives, isn't it?” His grin widened. “I was pretty sure I recognized Spencer's bike in the lot, right near where your car was parked. We were going to stop and say hi, since we were in the neighborhood and all, but Lissa wanted to scoot off for dinner.” He tilted his head a little. “You drive a dark blue third gen Camaro, don't you?”

Lassiter felt his phone vibrate in his pocket, but any responding message from Shawn was moot—this was his bad feeling, right there, smiling like a two-bit carnival jerker that had just discovered misdirection. “I'm sure the department of motor vehicles would inform you that I'm hardly the only owner of a car by that description in the city,” he said tightly. 

“Oh, I'm _sure_ ,” Mullins said, still with the grin. “It's a sweet ride, though I'm more of a Mustang man myself.” He nodded behind Lassiter. “Your coffee is ready.” 

He didn't want it anymore, but as that had been his pretense for coming into the room, Lassiter turned around and reached for the black handle, reminding himself that he abhorred paperwork and that he would be in for a mess of it should the pot take flying lessons and fail hard over Mullins's head.

“That Detective O'Hara,” Mullins said, and Lassiter's fingers tightened. “She's a real sweetie-pie herself. She's still living with that psychic, Spencer, isn't she?”

“You can ask her,” Lassiter said shortly. “Not that I would recommend doing so, seeing as it's none of your business who she's living with and who she's seeing.”

“True enough—I was just wondering, since I haven't seen him around much the last few months. I figured you would know. Since you used to be her partner and still talk to her... even swing by her place.”

Lassiter took a gulp of his coffee, his mind too full of quick fragments of thoughts. He knew he had only a second or two to respond to that, if he was going to, or anything he said would seem too calculated; however, he didn't know what the hell was going on, what Mullins was playing at, and so he didn't know what his next move should be. He could insist that it hadn't been his car, that Mullins was mistaken, or he could admit that he'd been there, and say he'd been dropping off something for Juliet that was case-related. They no longer worked any cases together, though, and while neither of them currently were working anything that was high-profile or on a need-to-know basis, it _would_ seem far friendlier than A Professional Working Relationship for them to be discussing anything in their off-hours. Maybe he'd been there to see Shawn... no, what possible plausible reason would he have for doing that, especially with his regular party line of Shawn being an annoying fake that needed to shove off the second he arrived at the police department. 

Sonofabitch. Lassiter realized he'd been quiet for a few seconds too long when he saw Mullins take another pull at his drink and heard him make an exaggerated “Ahh!” of refreshed satisfaction. What a fucking goon. Lassiter was angry then, beyond pissed, and at the moment he felt that his shell of self-preservation was far too transparent to be of use, so he might as well set it aside. He turned and glared at Mullins openly.

“Detective O'Hara _is_ still in a relationship with Spencer,” he said. “While I was having dinner with them last night, it came up that they're having their three-year anniversary later this summer.” He just managed to bite back a variation of _want to make something of it_ that would probably have come out as _do you feel lucky?_

“Three years,” Mullins said, and whistled a low, appreciate note. “That's awesome. Glad to hear they're going strong. She's a real Georgia peach, wouldn't you say?”

“I don't have any particular inclination to compare my colleagues to fruit.”

Mullins chuckled, making Lassiter picture his head as a smashed Jack O'Lantern on November third. He balled up his candy wrapper and got up, attempting to shoot it into the wastebasket. He missed, gave another exaggerated gesture—this one the “aw shucks” finger snap—picked up the wrapper and put it in the trash, and then glanced back as he headed for the door. “See you around, Detective,” he said.

Lassiter didn't answer; he felt his phone vibrate again and set his coffee mug down so quickly he nearly spilled it. He had two messages from Shawn, the first from several minutes ago, reading _taillights_ , which Lassiter assumed was his agreement to leave when he'd been told to. The second had been sent just two minutes ago, and it read _wtf i'm on it._

 _On_ it? On what? How did he know—how did he _always_ know? Lassiter closed his eyes and clenched his jaw. His bad feeling hadn't abated.

.

Juliet arrived at home with a headache and her game face, not in that order. She transferred the bag she was carrying carefully to one hand in order to get the building's outside door open, noticing that Carlton had beaten her here even though she'd left the police station first. The contents of the bag were the reason: two of their usuals and one stronger in the way of spirits: one Jack Daniels, one Smirnoff, and one Bacardi. Normally her drink of choice was white wine or a nice vodka martini, but this was just about as close as she got to a Level One while still feeling okay about drinking at all.

She'd debated for nearly ten minutes in front of the liquor store, trying to decide if it was really a good idea for them to be consuming alcohol when their situation, their entire lives together, seemed to require all of their focus, and then she'd rolled her eyes and sighed, thinking that she was already so tired of it _being_ an issue. They'd all known that being together could cause problems, but it was easy to fling away the too-plausible worries when they were falling so far in love with each other and with how perfectly they fit, not only in bed (sex or sleeping, or all sitting up against the headboard, Juliet polishing her toenails, Carlton reading _Guns & Ammo_, Shawn on his computer, giggling as he convinced a chat room full of strangers that beet farmers were planning to blackmail celebrities into hawking Beat Treats(TM) as an up-and-coming fad) but in their everyday lives. 

However, this was already the second time they had to seriously consider a threat to their relationship, and she didn't like it. When something seems too good to be true, yadda yadda. She was sure there was _something_ they could do that wasn't going to result in them having to reevaluate their way of living—please no, they were _so happy_ , and it was _working_ —but she couldn't think of what it was, at least not without knowing more. She'd only gotten a short phone call from Shawn (which had been worrisome not only because she knew how incomplete the information regarding what he'd overheard was, but also because Shawn had said, “Don't worry, sweetheart, I got this,” and she knew _that_ tone of voice) and she hadn't been able to talk to Carlton at all. 

She made her way down the hall to her door and let herself in, a little surprised to find the living room empty, the apartment silent. She went into the kitchen to put Shawn's vodka in the freezer and paused when she saw Carlton at the table, several pieces of several of his guns spread out. His jacket and tie were off and his jaw was set, though not entirely in concentration as he cleaned and oiled. He glanced up at her and she tried to smile at him, but her headache was still present.

“Where's Shawn?” she asked.

“I don't know,” he said after a moment. “Have you heard from him since about two o'clock?”

“No, I don't think so.” She got out her phone and glanced at it, checking for messages, but there were none. “Not since lunchtime. He called and told me he stopped outside the break room at the PD and overheard someone talking to you—well, 'vaguely threatened' is how he put it—and then told me not to worry, because he 'got this'.” 

Carlton made a low “hmm” sound and she looked at him again, raising her eyebrows. “Don't tell me _you_ don't think he's up to something,” he said. 

She sighed. “That's exactly what I think, but I couldn't press him about it because I had to get back, and then I spent the rest of the afternoon at a body dump site.” She turned to the counter and opened the fridge, hoping for at least one can of Coke to wave in front of her glass of rum. There wasn't one. “Fuck,” she muttered, only partly about the lack of soda. She closed the door a little harder than she'd meant to and then just stood there, staring at the bottles on the counter and trying to decide if breaking them might actually make her feel better than drinking them. Probably not. It was just that _something_ needed breaking, and after the idea that it was _them_ had come, she couldn't get rid of it. She wanted to just forget about it so badly, but people could be so _nosy_ , so sure in themselves that they had the right.

She heard the chair push back from the table and then Carlton was behind her, his arms going around her and holding her tightly to him, one arm around her waist, one just under her breasts, his head leaned down on her shoulder. He didn't say that it was going to be okay and she loved him for that, because they were both realists. The unspoken danger here was real. So was their love. One was absolutely going to have to give, and she didn't know what they were going to do.

The front door opened and closed, but neither of them moved; it was Shawn, of course, and neither was ready to let go yet. A few seconds later he was in the doorway behind them, his cheerful greeting so out of place that both of them whipped their heads around to give him disapproving looks.

“Hallo hallo,” Shawn called, and then he came over to the counter and hopped up on it so that he could grin at them. “Glad to see we're all here, because I have two questions.” His eyes were bright and pleased, and while Juliet could feel Carlton's impatience as he let go of her, she almost started to feel a little hope.

“Is one of them about your grip on reality?” Carlton asked. 

“Now Lassy, don't be the remainder in long division,” Shawn said, wagging a finger at him. Juliet suddenly _hated_ that comparison—of all the things he told people not to be, the three of them and any kind of division was the worst—and she scowled at Shawn to show it. He noticed with a slight flick of his eyes in her direction, and then he changed back to his original script. “Question the first,” he said, and held his arms out. “Who loves me?”

“Don't be a smart ass,” Carlton grumbled, and sat down on his chair again.

Shawn dropped his arms. “But my ass is one of the smartest parts of me. Think of all the things it's taught you.”

“Shawn,” Juliet said. He looked at her and she saw that he wasn't being a smart ass—or not _just_ a smart ass—he was really asking to be assured, because he wasn't unaffected at all. He was just so much better at hiding. “We love you,” she said, a little more softly. “That hasn't changed and it won't.” She paused. “If you have something to tell us, I think you'd better, because we're kind of edgy right now.”

“In just a second,” he promised; then he hopped down from the counter and put both arms around her, resting the side of his face against hers. “I love you and it's going to be okay,” he said. She sighed and hugged him back, telling herself not to believe it just yet, and starting to anyway. Shawn was like that. 

He let go of her and went over to Carlton, expertly nudging his knees apart with one leg and then turning so that he could sit down on his lap, one arm around his shoulders and his other hand laid flat in the middle of his chest. Carlton shifted a little to better support his weight, but he looked up at Shawn almost blandly. 

“I love you, Lassy,” Shawn said, very quietly. Instead of promising him as well that things were going to be fine, he leaned down to kiss him. Carlton sighed into his mouth, and then he put an arm around Shawn's waist and kissed him back. Shawn went on until Carlton pulled back, and then he smiled and nuzzled into his neck for a moment. Juliet smiled at them, and then her eyes went to the counter, to their booze, and she sighed to herself before getting out some glasses and ice.

“Question the second,” Shawn said, looking up again, this time only at Carlton. “Do you remember that jackass in the Macon PD who made snooty comments about me probably having a wet end or something, and then I saw him posting cop stuff on Facebook and you fired him?”

Carlton scowled again. “Of course I do. He's back on the force in Fayetteville.”

Shawn started to speak and then blinked. “That sounds made up.”

“It's not.”

“Are you sure it's not where little critters from a Dr. Seuss book live?”

“I'm very sure,” Carlton said, his impatience back. “What _about_ the moron I fired?”

“Ah, right.” Shawn grinned, kicking his legs a little so that he rocked in Carlton's lap. “That situation just sort of popped into my mind today, as I was scurrying my little self along the hall to go home, like you told me. I was headed out anyway—all I saw was the other side of the mountain—but then I thought mine ears nearly deceived me when I paused to check my phone again and heard someone inquiring about your car. Thanks Jules,” he said, grinning at her when she handed him a glass of vodka and pineapple juice. 

“How much did you hear?” Carlton asked him.

Shawn took a huge gulp of his drink. “Enough to know I want to play a repeat on him.”

Carlton gave him a look. “You can't just try to get people fired if you don't like them. No matter how much you may want to.”

“That's debatable,” Shawn said. “But also beside the point—can he get fired if there's proof of him stealing evidence?”

Juliet looked up quickly and met Carlton's eyes. “Yes,” they said together, eagerly.

“What did he steal?” Juliet asked.

“And what's the proof?” Carlton added.

Shawn set his drink on the table and stood up, holding up a finger. He went out of the kitchen and into the living room, and in the moment before he returned, Carlton and Juliet exchanged a look. Shawn came back with his laptop, and while he plugged it in and went to work locating something, Juliet handed Carlton his drink and looked for something other than Coke to mix her rum into. She wondered what it would taste like with Shawn's pineapple juice and decided to give it a go.

A minute or so later, Shawn turned his computer around. “I spy with my little eye Mullins' girlfriend's eBay account. Isn't this the camera that went missing at the same time all of that coke in the evidence room disappeared, and no one could figure out why it suddenly took a powder?”

Carlton leaned down and moved the laptop's cursor to expand on the picture. “I'm not certain. How sure are you that it's the same one? It could just be circumstantial.”

“It's the same one,” Shawn said. “Look at the little scuff underneath the pointy-shooty-lensy. I saw a detailed picture of it when I was looking through evidence today.”

“How did you find his girlfriend's eBay account?” Juliet asked. “How do you know it's hers?”

Shawn sighed. They both knew he hated having to go through it all, but he understood that they had to ask. “The username is the same as her email, which is public on her Facebook, which shows her as 'in a relationship' with him. That's how I found it—she made a few updates asking people she friended to check out the new stuff she added. I have no idea if she knows she's selling not only stolen merchandise, but stolen evidence—maybe he gave it to her and she didn't like it, who knows. The point is that I'm sure it's the one that disappeared out of the evidence room, it's tied to her, and she's tied to him. She has no affiliations with the PD whatsoever, nor would she have any reason to be there, so I really doubt she somehow stole it. It must have been him.”

“It sounds good,” Juliet said cautiously, and looked at Carlton. “Maybe we should try to buy it, and then bring it to the chief's attention.”

“How did we know it was there?” He frowned. “And what about the cocaine? If he took the camera, and it all went missing at the same time, from the same place, he may be implicated in that, and that's the bigger bust. We go to her about a camera and he's merely questioned, giving him time to get rid of the drugs if he still has them.”

“You can't get a warrant based on the fact he probably stole the camera?” Shawn asked. “See, this is why stupid cop rules are stupid. Can't I just psychic-vision it up for you guys?”

“Firstly, yes, probably, but not immediately—it would still give him time to ditch the drugs and anything else he pinched.”

“So? The camera would still get him fired, right? That's all we really care about.”

“If he stole the street value of fifty grand of cocaine I care about that too,” Carlton nearly snapped at him.

“He's right,” Juliet told Shawn. “That part matters.” She paused. “And while he would be fired and possibly do jail time for stealing evidence, the drug charge would definitely put him behind bars.” She looked at them both in turn, her eyes cool. “He would have lots of free time to think up new snarky comments about where Carlton's car may be spending the night.”

“Jules,” Shawn said, sounding impressed. “Revenge looks good on you.”

She looked at Carlton again; her jaw was set, and although he looked as if he'd been about to say something more, he raised his eyebrows at her instead. “I still want to know how he recognized your car, realized it was at our building, and put it together enough to make an implication,” she said.

“That worries me too,” he said. “I didn't want to bring it up without further investigation, but I can't completely discount the idea that it wasn't a coincidence. There's no reason he should know where you two live, or to ask me why I was here.”

Shawn groaned. “Crap. There's somebody watching us? What the fuck. Who? I'll get them fired too.”

“I'll give you three guesses,” Carlton said dryly. “But the first two don't count.”

Shawn put his fingers on his forehead. “I'm seeing... a fence. Good fences make good neighbors. A community on guard—neighborhood watch? Money through the _windows_ —”

“Enough,” Carlton said, annoyed. “We all know who we're talking about.”

“I never get to do that anymore.” Shawn pouted for a couple of seconds. “But I can bring it out to tip you off about the stolen evidence, right?”

“I don't think so.”

“It might seem too deliberate,” Juliet said. “Especially after the conversation you had with Gates. Given how much he doesn't like Carlton, he might assume I put you up to it so that no one knows anything about Carlton's car being at our place.”

Shawn frowned. “But he wants me to be all jealous, not, like, protective.”

“Exactly,” Carlton said. “So what's it going to look like if you're suddenly getting rid of anyone who's poking around?”

“Hey man, I don't control the spirits. They gave us their blessing.”

“No,” Carlton said flatly.

“How about an anonymous tip for Jules?”

“No,” Juliet said at once. “If it's just me going to the Chief with 'anonymous tip', it might seem even more like I'm trying to cover something up, especially so soon after Carlton was basically threatened.”

Shawn huffed. “Okay... how about a tip directly to Vick?”

Juliet looked at Carlton, raising her eyebrows. He looked like he wanted to believe, but everything that had happened so far, and the way everything was teetering, had him holding onto his wariness. “Either way, it's going to be obvious that it came from within the department,” he said slowly.

“It won't come back on either of you,” Shawn said seriously. “I'll make sure of that.”

“How?”

He shrugged. “I'll wing it. But it'll be fine.”

“Shawn.”

“You should let us help you work out what to say,” Juliet said firmly. 

He shook his head loftily. “Nah, then it'll sound too scripted. C'mon, how many times do I let 'er rip and go flying by the seat of my pants?” He paused. “Both of those make it sound like I have an issue with flatulence.”

“Sometimes you do when you talk like that,” Carlton said.

“Ouchy in my feelings,” Shawn said, holding a hand over his chest. “Just trust me for once, okay? I know how to word stuff to sound vague and mysterious.” He looked at both Carlton and Juliet to see their unimpressed expressions, and he sighed. “The less you guys know, the better, okay? I don't want you having any foreknowledge of the tip.”

“We already know about it,” Carlton pointed out.

“But not everything it's going to say.” Shawn thought a moment and then he grinned, slowly and somewhat diabolically. “Gates is due in court almost the whole rest of the week, right? When this comes in, who is Vick going to tap to investigate? Who that closed two cases just today?”

Carlton nodded slowly. “Me.”

“Ding ding ding,” Shawn sang, and sucked down the rest of his drink. “Lassy, you didn't tell me anything earlier.”

Carlton started to frown, and then he smiled a little, picking up his own glass. “You know I love you, Shawn.”

“Good,” Shawn said, grinning. “Have I got a dong dong dong for _you_.”

.

Two days later, when Lassiter was at his desk, not-waiting but waiting to be called into Vick's office, he was just pulling up red-light camera photos for GTA case when she appeared next to him and invited him into her office. Internal Affairs was there—good. Normally Lassiter would have lifted his lip and sneered at them like the ass-sniffing dogs they were, but not today. Today he fixed a mildly pleasant and curious expression on his face and held out his hand to shake with them. They didn't smile, but that was just fine, possibly going so far as to say dandy. He sat in the chair in front of Vick's desk, and when she pressed her lips together and then began to talk, he nodded and listened closely, making sure to be surprised in all the right places.

Later, his surprise was real.


	11. ...And Eat It, Too

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a shorty, at least compared to some of the others, but hopefully it's satisfying enough with its events to make up for that. Many extra thanks to my friend Sara for helping with the news article wording.

  
_We do it in the dark with smiles on our faces_  
 _We're dropped and well-concealed in secret places_  
 _We don't fight fair_  
—Fall Out Boy, “[The Take Over, The Break's Over](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EpDpSuG1hn4)”

  
Tears for Fears, check. But beers for cheers, Shawn thought as he studied the cooler at the 7-11. He was torn between getting a really good brand, one that Lassy actually liked, or a massive amount of something cheap. They were going to have cause to celebrate today—he could _just feel it_ —and although there weren't that many people that they really knew who would want to come celebrate with them, he should provide refreshments for all. He nodded to himself and turned around for the shelf stock instead of a sixer or two of the already chilled, and when Gus came back from the Slurpee counter with two cups in hand, Shawn had a twelve of Heineken bottles under each arm and a grin on his face.

Gus blinked. “Thirsty?”

“Today's gonna be a good day, Gus,” Shawn assured him, leading the way to the checkout. “I can feel it in my bones. I can feel it in the air. Not so much the water, because my shower this morning was like literally two minutes of freezing because _some people_ used up all the hot getting ready for work. I didn't even get to watch. What are you doing later?”

“Not whatever you have planned with a case of beer?”

Shawn made a sound like a buzzer. “Wrong! Survey says par _tay_.”

“Actually, I'm pretty sure _nobody_ says 'par _tay_ ' since the mid-1990s.”

“Gus, don't be a sign prohibiting the hanging of signs. My party senses are tingling, and I can't deny them. If I don't hop a Lindy before midnight, I'm going to get a Charleston horse in my calf. We got the suds,” he lifted the beer and set it on the counter behind a couple of kids who were buying candy bars, “and I'm pretty sure we're going to need a cake. I bet I even have time to get a homemade one—yours. That German chocolate one with the coconut frosting.”

Gus held up the two Slurpee cups when the clerk glanced at them so that she could ring them up, along with the beer. Shawn stood by unconcernedly while Gus handed over some cash, and then he took his cup and one of the green cardboard boxes, slowing his pace when he got near the door for Gus to catch up with the other beer case. Shawn turned to hit the door with his back to open it, and he gave his friend a grin in thanks.

“Not pineapple?” Gus asked, following him outside and then setting the beer down so that he could open the car's back door. 

“No, Lassy doesn't really like it that much.” Shawn made a face and slid the beer he'd been carrying on the floor behind his seat. “He's so weird. You know what he asked me to do once?”

Gus nearly flinched. “No, Shawn!”

“He made me order a pizza _without_ ham and pineapple!” Shawn made a disgusted face when Gus relaxed. “Right? How can someone live like that?” He paused. “That's not even counting the thing with the gun magazines and the jar of marmalade.” Gus made as if to throw his Slurpee, and Shawn waved a finger at him. “Ah ah, don't be wasteful. Anyway, I'm kidding. Why would we buy marmalade when Nutella and cream cheese exist?”

Gus lowered his cup. “And why, may I ask, am I baking a cake for Lassy?”

“Because it would be really, really rude of us to sample the chocolate that is your fine self instead of scrumptious baked goods, and German chocolate is his favorite.” Shawn grinned again as he slid into the front and flipped his sunglasses over his eyes. “I'm telling you, Gus, it's going to be a great day.”

Gus had gotten into the car as well, but didn't start it. Instead, he looked over to the passenger side of the car suspiciously. “Shawn...”

Shawn sucked on his drink, enjoying its sweet iciness, and gave him a bright, innocent look back. “Yes, buddy?”

“What did you do?”

“Mmm... well, you see, in order to answer that I need to tell you a story. A story of greed and jealousy, of love and near-scandal, of hair and fingerprints, of mystery and mayhem and little bitty M&Ms that come in the plastic tube. Once upon a time, there was an evil, crotchety-and-not-in-the-good-way old man, who had his eye on the fair princess. One, two, princes knelt before her—that's what I said now, princes: princes who adored her. One day, a fine white powder covered the land...”

.

Watching a forty-four-year-old man come unglued was never pretty, Lassiter reflected, standing with his hands on his hips as he, Chief Vick, and three Internal Affairs officers made a semi-circle in front of Brian Gates. Vick had just finished reading him his rights, her arms folded and her face nearly white with shock and fury. Gates's face was, in contrast, a dark red except for a couple of pale patches high up on his cheekbones. His hands were in fists, which one of the IA shooflies, Ryerson, was watching closely. It had been a busy morning: Mullins was already in lockup, babbling about a phone call to his fiancee, and now almost the entire PD was at a standstill, many of the officers and all of the detectives watching with confusion or contempt. Juliet was there, her arms folded and her eyes hard, but Lassiter had only glanced at her once, his gaze sweeping the entire room, before returning to the downfall of his not-so-superior officer.

“It's not mine!” Gates nearly screamed.

“It has your prints on it,” Ryerson said flatly. “Detective Lassiter had us run it twice, just to be sure.”

Gates turned his reddish, furious face to Lassiter, who had the evidence bags still in his hands. “Save it for the judge,” he said loudly, knowing it was a canned line, but loving it all the same. 

He held the candy container, the cocaine, and the camera out to the other IA clowns so that they could get on with the circus, and as they reached for Gates and began hauling him out, Lassiter looked around and saw Shawn and Gus back by the hall, both watching avidly—although Gus was wary and Shawn looked... what? Satisfied? He had his face pointed at the ground but he was looking up, his eyes squinted and one corner of his mouth turned up. Lassiter knew that look. It was “gotcha”. He frowned a little uncertainly and studied Shawn as Ryerson and Burke marched Gates toward the hall. The anonymous tip to the chief that he'd known Shawn was going to make had more than paid off, not only with Mullins, the camera, and the coke, but Lassiter himself discovering evidence that linked Gates to all if it, through and through. He'd found the bright yellow candy container in the corner of Mullins's drippy apartment building basement where the coke and some jewelry—also missing from evidence—had been stored, and had only run it for prints because it was dust-free, indicating it was new, and checking it was SOP. When they cornered Mullins, he'd broken down almost at once about taking the evidence, but he was holding out on Gates being his partner. They'd get it out of him eventually—the evidence, as always, spoke volumes. 

So, yes, they'd got both of them, the snotty sonofabitch who'd thought he was going to be cute and make remarks about where Lassiter might be spending his off-duty time, and the smarmy asshole who had just yesterday dropped his eyes to Juliet's chest as he went by her desk. He wasn't showing off his greasy smile now—the way he was still screaming that he had no idea what was going on, that he had never in his life had anything to do with drugs, especially stealing drugs from the police evidence room, was anything but greasy. His voice had gone shrill, near tears. Too bad, so sad, Lassiter thought, looking at him again coldly. He'd thought he couldn't be caught, and he was going to get what he deserved, every morsel. 

As they came up to the entrance to the hall, Shawn and Gus both moved back to give them room, Gus looking warier than ever and Shawn... still smiling. Gates whipped his head around in time to glare at him as he was led past, and Shawn tilted his head at him, raising a finger and tapping at his lower lip for just a second.

His middle finger.

He kissed the tip of it as he pulled it back, turning his hand around to twiddle his fingers in a goodbye. Gates lunged at him and most of the officers nearby, who had been too focused on either Gates, Lassiter, or Vick to pay attention to the psychic team, twitched as if they were ready to jump forward to either hold Gates back or protect Shawn and Gus from the raving mess that until an hour ago had been their head detective. Ryerson, Burke, and Mendez had him tightly, though, and they gave a collective shove to continue him away. 

“Wow,” Shawn said loudly, hands down now, his thumbs hooked into the pockets of his jeans. He turned to the bullpen area, his eyes darting around almost randomly before he settled on Juliet, who had turned around fast when she'd heard Gates's renewed exertions; she'd been watching Vick, who Lassiter just then realized had been giving him a contemplative look. Juliet hadn't seen Shawn and Gus come in, nor either gesture Shawn had made when Gates looked at him. Lassiter decided, immediately and firmly with not an iota of space for questions, that he hadn't seen a goddamn thing either. If he had, he might feel the need to mention it to Juliet, or to think about it himself. “Jules,” Shawn called, started to saunter over, trailed, as always, by Gus. “What's going on?”

“Hi Shawn, hi Gus,” she said. “It's—I can't talk about it now. What brings you here?”

“We just wanted to know if you thought you'd be off in time for a little get-together tonight,” Shawn said. “Gus made treats for his office's bake sale fundraiser, but he was the only one, so they called it off and just donated all of the employees' loose change to the children's hospital. You wouldn't believe how many lucky pennies that came out to, and it works out for _everyone_ , right Gus? We get the cake and his company won the charity drive battle. It might not have been strictly rule-abiding, but hey, all's fair in love and war, don't you agree?” He grinned.

Juliet smiled back. “Most times, sure,” she said, and looked at Gus. “What kind of cake are we talking?”

Guster hesitated for just a second. “German chocolate,” he said.

“With coconut pecan frosting,” Shawn added.

Lassiter turned away, fast, his stomach not sinking. It jumped into his throat when he nearly ran directly into Chief Vick, who was now standing right beside him. “Carlton,” she said. “Would you join me in my office, please?”

“Certainly,” he said, and followed her with his head up and his eyes focused directly in front of him, not so that he wouldn't see Shawn's eyes tracking him as they went.

.

_The Santa Barbara Independent_  
 _April 24, 2010_

_The arrests of Head Detective Brian Gates and Officer Peter Mullins sent shockwaves through The Santa Barbara Police Department on Friday afternoon, several inside sources informed reporters. Despite allegations of evidence-theft on a major scale, insiders have been tight-lipped about the exact nature of the possible infractions. Internal Affairs has declined to comment on the matter, citing still-pending evidence and the on-going nature of the investigation._

_At a press conference later that night, Police Chief Karen Vick announced that Head Detective Brian Gates was no longer with the department. “I can't speak to that,” she said, when reporters asked her about the pending charges against him and Officer Mullins. “But I'm very glad to announce that, as of today, Detective Carlton Lassiter has been re-instated as our head detective. As some of you know, he held the position from March 1996 until July 2007, when he transferred out of state. We are all very glad he's back with us.”_

_Detective Carlton Lassiter also declined to comment._


	12. Dread & Breakfast

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise that things are going to be looking up again for these guys soon, but there's quite a roller coaster ahead. Comments and feedback make my day.

**MAY 2010**

  
Juliet smiled as she woke up to the smell of pancakes and bacon. She breathed deeply and sighed, rolling over a little and snuggling into someone, probably Shawn because Carlton was the breakfast whiz—although sometimes Shawn would find it hard to sleep and go for takeout at five-thirty, reheating it and having it ready on the table before she and Carlton would have to start getting ready for work. She breathed in again, trying to see if she could tell which of her men was still lying next to her, and when she recognized Johnson's Baby Shampoo, she opened her eyes and smiled wider at Shawn. He was just waking up himself, his hazel eyes still bleary from sleep, but part of them, way down deep, always sharp, always looking and seeing, moved quickly over the familiar landscape of her face and he dismissed everything he noticed and closed his eyes again, pulling her closer and planting a kiss on her forehead.

“I smell bacon,” he mumbled. “I think the cops are here. Quick, baby, hide the bong and the blood-covered ax.” 

She snorted and poked him in the stomach. “Don't let Carlton hear you say that.”

“Which part, the bong? Like it would shock him to think I've partaken in a blunt or two over the days.”

“No, the 'bacon' as cops part. Any of the slang terms like 'pigs' or 'fuzz' will actually get him mad at you.”

“I know, I won't.” Shawn yawned and turned onto his back, and Juliet followed him, laying one arm over his stomach and snuggling into his shoulder. “I do smell sizzling hickory-smoked slabs of swine, though.”

“Me too.” Juliet heard footsteps in the hall and lifted her head to smile at Carlton, who was fully dressed and bright-eyed. “Good morning,” she said.

“Hiya Lass,” Shawn said, also grinning. “Are you gonna break my fast?”

“Provided you get your can into the kitchen within the next five minutes,” Carlton said pleasantly. “Everything came out just the way you like it, but I won't be sorry one bit if I have to eat it all myself because you're a lazy no-account.”

Shawn sat up so fast Juliet had to roll in order to not get her neck wrenched. “Sorry sweetheart,” he tossed over his shoulder as his feet hit the floor. “He's threatening my pancakes.”

“Priority one,” she agreed, sitting up so that she could scoot to the edge of the bed and follow him. 

As they ate, Shawn smacked his lips repeatedly and inquired after the possibility of what he called a “Lassy Lunchable” (a lunch to take with him to the Psych office consisting of things Carlton made specifically for him). “Absolutely,” Carlton said at once.

Shawn paused with a hunk of bacon nearly to his mouth. “Really?”

Carlton's grin widened. “Nope.” 

“No fair getting my hopes up! I demand sustenance!”

“You're eating breakfast,” Juliet reminded him, and made a halfhearted grab for his last slice of bacon. Shawn leaned over his plate and brandished his fork at her, hissing. Said fork still contained the bacon he'd been just about to eat, and the second she dropped her eyes to it, he yanked it back and almost stabbed himself in the cheek getting it into his mouth. 

Juliet laughed and glanced at Carlton, who was watching with a small smile on his face. Ever since he'd gotten the head detective job back last month he'd been in an amazingly good mood, even good enough to recommend Psych to consult on three separate cases in three weeks (although he'd refused—politely—to work with Shawn and Gus, telling Chief Vick that his efforts were better used to make progress on a number of other cases that he was knocking down). They hadn't been given anything high-profile, which Shawn had the nerve to complain about, but they _were_ working, and regularly enough to make their office's rent, along with a few other bills that somewhat-regularly came out of Gus's personal funds. 

Juliet gave Carlton a kiss inside the apartment, Shawn a kiss in the parking lot, and then she drove herself to work, stopping for coffee that she didn't really need so that she and Carlton wouldn't arrive at the station at the same time. Sure enough, when she pulled up to park she saw the new Fusion that the department's highest-ranking detective had the privilege to use, already in his personal spot. She smiled and went inside to start the day.

She'd just settled in at her desk and replied to a few emails when Carlton appeared at her side, sifting through a pile of case folders. “Morning O'Hara,” he said mildly, and selected one file, which he set on the edge of her desk. “Like to see you make an arrest on this apartment burglary today—a witness gave a description to a sketch artist and there's a tentative ID.”

“I'm on it,” she assured him, picking up the file and flipping it open. He moved on to Detective Antillo's desk, and then to Dobson's, distributing cases and instructions; normally it would be Chief Vick who gave out such assignments, but as Carlton had been an assistant chief in Macon, she had been more than willing to give him more responsibilities so that she could handle her other five thousand matters. 

Juliet got to work, looking up the possible ID for priors and last known addresses or places of employment, and then possible affiliations with drugs or gangs. Two hours later she squared her shoulders and held her head high, walking her suspect out to the car, where Detective Antillo waited; it was her collar, but the reputation of a bad neighborhood, so she'd brought him along as protocol mandated. He'd elected to stay outside, however, as Juliet informed a screaming mother that she needed to question her seventeen-year-old son at the station in regards to a robbery. The kid had paled as soon as his mother whirled around, her eyes nuclear, and he'd almost jumped into Juliet's handcuffs, blubbering excuses and explanations that it was only a dare—a pitiful gang initiation—and he hadn't _really_ taken anything. In the interview room, she put on her soft, understanding expression and tone, and he confessed to everything. 

“Good work, O'Hara,” Carlton said casually as she walked back to her desk to type up her report.

“Thank you.” She gave him a very small, very quick smile, and arranged her notes in front of her.

She was in the break room, getting a cup of coffee and checking her phone, when Officer Katlyn Pierce came over to congratulate her on solving her last case so quickly. “All wrapped up in less than one shift, that's got to be some kind of record,” she said.

Juliet smiled, recognizing what she thought was a transfer trying to be extra-friendly in a new place (she could understand it; she'd been there), and shrugged. “It's probably not, but thank you. To tell the truth I feel bad for the kid, but hopefully the judge will be lenient. His mother, on the other hand...”

Officer Pierce winced a little. “Ooh, if it had been _my_ boy? So much hell to pay.”

“Same here,” chimed in Shannon Rogers, who Juliet recognized as a clerk who worked in the bail office. “But at least when you catch 'em young, they still have a chance.” She glanced at Juliet. “I heard Detective Lassiter telling the chief he was going to back your recommendation to send his case to juvenile court. I gotta say, I'm glad he's back—Gates was a rat, and I'm glad he's going away for taking all of that coke. Plus he was a rat on a power trip, who by all accounts never took into consideration what any of the other detectives had to say, even about their own cases.”

Juliet glanced around for Carlton or anyone else that would be quick to remind them that they shouldn't be gossiping. “I think that was true a lot of the time,” she said. “I'm glad C—Detective Lassiter is back, too.”

“Why was he gone?” Officer Pierce asked, bright-eyed and looking pleased at being so easily included. It was sometimes hard work to find an in at a new department, especially if you were a woman. 

“Oh, he transferred away to one of those backwater states in the South, or something,” Shannon said, and looked at Juliet again. “Which one was it? You were his partner, I'm sure you remember.”

“Georgia,” she said, and sipped her coffee.

“That's right.” Shannon suddenly gave her a sly grin and lightly nudged her arm. “Now that he's back on top, how long will it be before you're his _partner_ again, hmm?”

Juliet blinked. “I—Chief Vick feels that I'm sufficient enough on my own most of the time—” She stopped when the other woman raised her eyebrows in an 'Oh, Honey' look. Juliet tried not to scowl, but she could feel the line on her forehead appearing. “Besides, I have a boyfriend,” she went on. “He runs a private detective agency and sometimes consults with us—I'm sure you must have seen him around a time or two. Shawn Spencer, the psychic?”

Now Shannon looked honestly surprised. “Oh? I heard you broke up with him in order to be with Lassiter.”

Juliet was confused at that, and she shrugged. “No. Shawn and I have been together for almost three years—three this summer.” She paused, and tried to pitch her tone as merely casual-curious. “Where did you hear that?”

Shannon hesitated and then waved her hand a little. “Oh, I don't remember, one of the other clerks maybe?”

“I thought Detective Lassiter was your boyfriend,” Officer Pierce added.

“He's not,” Juliet said, mentally adding an apology to Carlton. 

“Oh. I'm sorry,” Pierce said, looking uncomfortable and uncertain.

Making too much of a deal about it would only serve to draw further attention to it, so Juliet simply shrugged again. “Don't worry about it—I'm just glad I cleared it up. Lassiter and I work together; Shawn and I live together.” She tried on a smile, hoping that it didn't look too forced. “Excuse me, I need to get back to work. Crime doesn't stop for coffee.”

On her way out, she winced, remembering that that was one of Carlton's lines.

She was an inch and a half of paperwork into her next case when Shawn and Gus arrived at the station to pick up their last check. Gus went to sign for it while Shawn perched on the edge of her desk and began gushing about a new flavor of ice cream he'd invented while scooping the remainder of three different cartons into a bowl for lunch.

“—and those little bitty tiny peanut butter cups,” he finished, with a flourish. “It was a miasma of deliciousness. You know, our anniversary is coming up.” He leaned back slightly and touched two fingers to the side of his head. “I'm sensing... deep freezer.”

“That's a horrible anniversary present,” Gus said as he came over to them. 

“One big enough to fit a body into.”

“That's an ominous anniversary present,” Gus amended. 

“It's for ice cream, dude. A body's worth of ice cream.” Shawn closed his eyes again and licked his lips, then opened one eye in a kind of reverse-wink at Juliet. “It's okay, it's Jules-flavor.”

“Spencer, what are you doing here?”

Shawn turned to give Carlton a big, innocent grin. “Hi, Lassy. I can tell you what I'm _not_ doing—I'm most certainly _not_ putting Jules in a deep freezer.”

“Great,” Carlton said, rolling his eyes a little. “Can you please go _not_ do that somewhere else?”

“Since you asked so nicely, we will be _right_ on our way,” Shawn promised. Carlton sighed and turned back toward his desk, where his phone was ringing. Shawn turned back to Juliet, his smile dropping to a mildly concerned look. “Jules, are you okay?”

She looked up a him, slightly startled that he'd noticed, but of course he'd noticed—he was Shawn, and he knew her. “Yes,” she said, and then hesitated. “I...”

His concern deepened, and Gus frowned as well. “Sweetheart, what?” Shawn asked, leaning closer.

She opened her mouth to tell him to go home, that she'd tell him tonight, but then her gaze went past his face and she saw Officer Pierce, whose eyes were following Carlton as he walked away from Juliet's desk. “It's—more rumors,” she said, her voice low, though hopefully not as low as her spirit. “I've just been hearing more, that's all. People thinking that Carlton and I are going to be partners again, that we're together—that I broke up with you to be with him.”

Shawn scoffed. “Rude.” He seemed to want to say more, but—thankfully—remembered where he was and that the walls had ears. “You work in an office, kiddo. They need _something_ to talk about, might as well be your smokin' self.”

She managed to give him a small smile, and then she saw that Gus was still frowning. Shawn continued, his voice quick but quieter than his normal pitch, going on about how she was the best place for anyone's jealousy and that he'd been known to inspire a bit of the ol' green-eyed-monster in people from time to time. Juliet was barely listening, however; she was thinking.

The next week, she knew, Gus was going to be working mostly at his 'main' job, going to doctor's offices to make more contacts, distribute more samples, sell more drugs. On her day off before switching to nights for a few days, she dropped Shawn off at the Psych office to meet with a client, and she called Gus before she could change her mind.

“Juliet?” he answered, sounding worried. “What's wrong? What did Shawn do? Is he in the hospital again? I swear to correct skin tone Jesus—”

“No, no.” She paused. “I wondered if you had time for brunch today? Or even to meet for a cup of coffee?” She could feel him hesitate, confused, and she went on, her eyes closed. “I would really appreciate it. I need to talk to someone who knows about me and Shawn and Carlton. It's not urgent—nothing's going critical, I just... need to talk, and you're such a good listener. You can see different angles of situations so well, and Shawn has always said you're an amazing sounding board for ideas.”

“All right,” he said, sounding surprised. “I can meet you after my next appointment.”

“Thank you,” she said, and meant it.

They met at a cafe known for their light but delicious brunch menu, and sat outside somewhat away from the other diners on the patio. After a server took their orders and zipped away to get them iced tea, Juliet looked at Gus contemplatively. “How much does Shawn tell you?” she asked curiously.

He blinked, his eyes slightly wide. “About?”

“About us. Obviously you know that the three of us are together.” She paused, looking at him closely now. He looked uncomfortable, and she gave him a small smile, recalling a conversation Shawn had told her about. “I can easily stay in a PG-13 range,” she said. “What I wanted to talk about isn't sex-based.”

“Ah.” Gus relaxed slightly and sipped his lemon water. “Shawn tells me a lot,” he admitted. “I can't really say how much in a measured sense, because I don't know what the total would be. He mostly feels the need to keep me up on daily details, like how ill-mannered he found it that Lassiter used the last of his shampoo and didn't replace the bottle immediately.”

“He did buy him more,” Juliet said, smiling a little. “It was just the wrong brand. Carlton assumed anything that said 'baby shampoo' was going to work.”

“And that was like no shampoo at all,” Gus said wisely. He paused, and his eyes flicked over to her face again. “I also know that you're more worried about the constant stream of rumors about you and Lassy at the PD than you're letting on.”

She shouldn't be surprised, not really, not with how he'd grown up with Shawn and spent so much time with him. Gus was very intelligent, and deduction could be taught. She sighed. “Yes. First there was the scare with Buzz, then Gates telling Shawn that he noticed how often Carlton and I had lunch together, so much that he felt he could try to make him jealous.”

Gus sniffed. “That man had problems. Shawn told me that he was creeping all over you—he was slightly disappointed that you didn't introduce your fist to his trachea.” 

She smiled again. “I considered it, but there was my job to consider.” Her smile faltered again. Her job. “Then there was Mullins,” she went on after a moment, not looking at Gus because his expression was patient and knowing. “Who had no reason at all to know or to make it his business that Carlton's car was at our apartment. I still don't know what his entire motive for that conversation was—was it a threat, like Carlton thinks? To possibly bring it up with the chief, to start even more rumors? Indiscretion and 'immoral acts unbecoming an officer' _can_ cause trouble. Was it a hint at blackmail? That's what Shawn thinks—Mullins never said so much as a peep to either me or Carlton before that day, and neither of us can think of any reason he'd have a personal beef with him. But then it turns out that Gates probably put him up to it—to watching us—since _he_ hated Carlton and had the thing for me.” She made a disgusted face. “At least they're both gone now. But last week, what I heard, what two department members said directly _to_ me...” She looked at Gus, who had his hands folded and was still patiently letting her sound it all out. “The rumors aren't subsiding,” she said quietly. “They're getting worse. There are more of them, they're circulating faster, and some of them are being treated as fact. It's only a matter of time before—”

Gus waited, but she couldn't go on. “Before?” he prompted gently.

She took a deep breath. “Before somebody else, someone with authority to make something of it, takes them seriously.”

“Like Chief Vick?”

“Possibly. Even another officer could make it an issue for us, if a complaint is made.”

“Why would someone complain about your relationships?”

“Any number of reasons. There's generally not a small amount of—of extra-friendliness going on in any group of people. It _is_ a work environment made of adults, quite a lot of whom are single, or looking anyway. That by itself isn't a shocker, and although almost all of it goes by with people looking the other way, there is technically a rule against it—if you're in the same department. Particularly if you work with sensitive information.” She looked at him steadily. “I'm sure Shawn told you about Detective Barry—Carlton's partner before me. When Shawn outed their relationship, she was transferred almost immediately, and he was given a stern talking-to about professional working partnerships and discretion. If Shawn hadn't done that in front of a crowd, it might not have gone down that way, which is where 'your relationship, your business' as kind of the standard attitude comes into it.” She pressed her lips together. “Provided it doesn't become a public issue. These rumors about us... and with Carlton being re-promoted, back where he belongs...”

“You don't want to entertain the idea of a threat to either of your jobs, because it could actually turn into a serious problem,” Gus finished, and she nodded. 

Their meals came and they thanked the server; Gus dug in while Juliet picked at a piece of strawberry. She hadn't been very hungry for the past week, and had even gone so far as to accidentally-on-purpose spill a glass of ice water down her white top a few nights ago so that Shawn wouldn't notice that she'd only managed to nibble half her noodles.

“I'm guessing you haven't told Shawn or Lassiter much of this?” Gus asked after a moment.

“I tried to,” she said slowly. “Shawn doesn't take it seriously, partly because I honestly don't think he understands how serious it could be, and partly because he assumes that he can fix anything that might come up. He calmed down Buzz and convinced him not to tell anyone that he saw them kissing, and he basically got Mullins not only fired, but _jailed_. We didn't expect that Gates was stealing evidence and drugs with him—that was kind of a bonus—but you know how Shawn is. He knows he's lucky, or that he can be, so he assumes nothing _really_ bad will ever happen. Not anything permanent, not anything that will really affect him.”

Gus was nodding, his expression now long-suffering. “Boy do I hear that,” he said. “I swear half the time he really is convinced that he's part magic.”

“But magic isn't real, it's just a trick, and sooner or later people see through the trick.”

Juliet sighed again, not wanting to get into her vague feelings that Shawn wasn't ever going to really understand that until something did fall through—until some cataclysmic event tore his life apart. She hoped it wouldn't come to that, but too often people windsurfing through life suddenly found themselves in calm waters surrounded by sharks, and then they were eaten alive.

“And Carlton,” she went on. “When I brought up the rumors that were still going around, he looked concerned for just a moment... and then Shawn chimed in that people were jealous of me, of him, of all of us, and Carlton said that he wasn't at all surprised that people spread spiteful tales because they couldn't grow up and deal with the fact that some people moved up in the world because they were just better than others.” She exchanged a small eye-roll with Gus and then smiled at him. “I love Carlton, and Shawn does too,” she said softly. “But he really does have a head as big as the state of Florida sometimes. And sure, sometimes it's justified—he's an amazing detective, and he's incredibly focused.”

“That sort of thing causes tunnel vision, though,” Gus said, and she nodded at once. “Remember when Shawn just about tripped over himself helping him solve the murder of that astronomer? The only reason he did that was because Lassy couldn't get a break in _one_ case, so he got super depressed and drunk, so drunk that he poured it out to _Shawn_ , who he really didn't even like at the time. Some people with big egos are actually kind of fragile. Shawn's like that sometimes when things go wrong—I mean, I'm sure you've seen him. It takes a lot, and he doesn't get drunk and lament to the nearest ear...”

She nodded again. “I know. He buries it until it takes over his thoughts and he starts hating himself.”

“Right.” Gus sipped his drink and considered something. “Do you think Lassy really is worried about it, and just hiding?”

She shook her head at once. “If he really thought there was a threat either his job or our relationship, he would have all hands on deck. He _loves_ his job—he says all the time that it's who he is.” She paused. “And he loves us. I know that for awhile, especially after he got divorced and was living in Georgia, alone, that he was depressed and thinking that he wasn't ever going to find someone again. I honestly think that he believes that _both_ of us are what he needs, and that he's happy. So no... if he's concerned about it, then it's probably the other side of tunnel vision... not the side that makes him immediately think it's his fault and that he's failed when things go wrong, because all things kind of revolve around him, but the side that just doesn't let him see everything.”

“So, Shawn isn't worried because either it's not a real problem, or he can fix it if it is, and Lassiter isn't worried because it's not a real problem, because people are just jealous of him and of you and you're better than them so they can get over it, or he doesn't care if they do or not,” Gus said.

Juliet smiled again. “You really are good at nutshelling.”

“It's going in my résumé,” he said seriously. “Do _you_ think it's a real problem, or that it's going to be one?”

“I'm worried... it's been less than a year. Good things keep happening—we're doing so well together, Carlton back as the head detective and now that he's with Shawn too, you guys are getting more of his approval for working with the department.” She bit her lip. “But yes, I'm worried that more and more people are whispering about us. When Mullins told Carlton that he'd seen his car in our parking lot, and insinuated that there was something going on... Gus, all of this is balanced. I know how often triad relationships really work, and how long they really last. I did some reading, I've talked to some people online. Any relationship is work at times, but the three of us are all very strong-willed people who sometimes need to compromise and don't always want to. I talked to a couple who introduced a third, and it went very well for awhile, until things started coming up that had them taking sides, two-against-one. I know we're not always going to agree on everything, but if we don't treat this carefully, it's not unlikely that something like that could make us start to fall apart. Shawn refuses to read anything about dynamics or to talk to anyone else, because he won't look that far ahead, he won't hear anything about how one day... what we have... might not be.”

Gus reached into his jacket and pulled out a handkerchief, which he handed over immediately and she gripped tightly.

“It's so carefully balanced, even if they don't see it,” she went on after a moment, her voice low, trying to keep herself calm. She'd known for awhile now that she wished she had someone to talk to about it all—someone like Shawn had, someone like Gus—but she hadn't known how badly she needed it. “How often do you really get to have your cake and eat it too? Especially when two of you have jobs working with the public?”

“What does it come down to?” Gus asked gently.

She knew she was being prompted, because he could see that she'd already gone over this so many times to herself. It was frightening to say it aloud, final. “I think... it comes down to that,” she said slowly. “Our jobs... or our relationship. I don't think we can have both. It's only a matter of time before something upsets our balance... and everything comes crashing down.”

“Do you want to hear what I think?”

“Yes,” she said, and she did. She'd meant it when she said he was good at seeing situations from all sides, good at being someone a person could bounce ideas on, because some of them he bounced back and some of them he threw aside. 

Gus's face was solemn. “I think you're right,” he said. “It's not quite as simple as that—your jobs or your way of life—but if you want to boil it down, those are, at least for the moment, the biggest chunks left. And with what it sounds like is not only continuing at the station, but getting worse... like you said, it's balanced. Say what's going on with you three is outed. Shawn won't be that affected, because he doesn't really work there other than the cases we get, which we could very well lose. You could lose your job or be transferred away, like Detective Barry was. Lassy could lose his promotion or be transferred away... or, because it's come up that he's slept with coworkers before, he could be fired. I somehow doubt that would put him in a cuddly mood.”

“No.”

“He seems like that would actually make him start to resent you two.”

“It might,” she agreed.

“And even _if_ neither of you were transferred or fired... how long before people complained that the cases he gave you were because he favored you? How long before he had to deal with insubordination, either of people being homophobic because of his relationship with Shawn, or just people being straight-up weird because of his relationship with both of you? Then there's people that will do nothing but whisper behind your back, calling you unsavory names for having two men. Many of the women would think you were either a tramp or greedy, and many of the men—while also thinking and saying those things—might try to proposition you, or worse.”

Juliet nodded again. “I know. That's what I mean. That's why I'm worried. That... it just can't happen.” She stared at her lunch, which she'd barely touched. “It's our jobs... or our relationship.”

“I think you need to talk to Shawn and Lassy, Juliet. You have some very valid concerns, and they need to recognize them.”

She'd been steeling herself to say her last thing out loud. Even to Gus, who had no say except for his opinions, and his support—of which she was very grateful, it was so good to know that he agreed that they were headed for disaster and that something needed to be done, perhaps something drastic—but it was still going to hurt. “I... have an idea,” she said after a moment, and she took a deep breath. “I think I can fix it.”

Gus looked surprised. “You do?”

She took a long drink of her tea, which was cold and sweet and good. The condensation of the glass made her fingers wet, and she gripped Gus's handkerchief again. “I started thinking about it after you and Shawn came to the station last week—the idea that I wasn't just worried for nothing, that something had to be done. Preventative measures. _Protective_ measures. When I came to the conclusion that the three of us couldn't have us plus me and Carlton working for the SBPD... I asked myself which I would rather have, if I could only have one.” She tried to smile, but her lips were trembling. “I love being a detective, Gus. Carlton says all the time that it's who he is, but it's who I am, too. I love it, and I'm good at it.” She had to pause for a moment to loosen her throat, and Gus frowned. “And... I'm going to really miss it,” she said softly. “It's going to break my heart to ask to be transferred. But if I ask, I can hopefully choose. Something like City Hall. I think I would fit in there.” She licked her lips and found that they were dry again. “And it doesn't come close to how much my heart would be broken if the three of us lost what we had. Especially not if it didn't break on its own, but because of other people, and anger or resentment. I don't want to give up my job... but...”

“It sounds like you've thought this out thoroughly,” Gus said, his brow still furrowed. “Is this the best solution?”

She let out a deep breath and nodded. “I think so. I don't think there's anything Shawn can do, and Carlton...”

“You don't think he'd give up his position for anything?”

She shook her head slightly. “I don't think I could ask him. It's going to hurt me to leave, but it would kill him to. I think I can handle this, but I don't think... not that he never _would_ , if it came down to it... I just don't know. But I do know that he wouldn't be truly happy anywhere other than where he is. I can try.”

“Have you thought of any other options?”

She shook her head again. “It's the only thing I keep coming back to. Our jobs, our relationship. I'm not willing to budge on our relationship—I'm just not. Even if it—if it doesn't last the rest of our lives, we are all too happy to give it up now. Shawn is more stable now than he's ever been in his entire life, even Henry has commented on it. Carlton is happier than I've ever known him to be. And I _love_ them—and I also love how much they love each other. I think a lot of people go their whole lives never being this complete—some people just work this way. I think we're like that, I really do. So... one of us can keep being a detective, but not both. The rumors, and the chances that it's going to come out and fall apart... that's only likely to get worse, and either I can stop it now, and move, and we can keep being us, or we can chance it and lose everything. I'm not willing to do that.”

Gus nodded. “I'm sorry,” he said softly. “I know how much it means to you. Believe me, I'm very glad for all of you that you found something with each other that works so well. I'll be damned if I know how you put up with them on a daily basis...” He paused to give her a smile when she chuckled. “But you may be right that this is the best solution.” He paused again, frowning slightly. “I'm guessing you haven't mentioned any of this to anyone? Not inquired about transfer options, for example?”

“No.”

He nodded. “Do one thing first, okay? For yourself. You need their support for this—talk to them and tell them everything. Lay it all out just like you did here, and explain that the balance is getting too much weight on one side, which can make the whole thing tip over. If you're sure this is necessary, then both of them need to see what you're willing to give up for them, and that they _need_ to take it seriously. You deserve that.” He arched an eyebrow. “And if Shawn can't shut his cake hole for three seconds and pay attention to you, I'm going to rub a mixture of peanut butter and mayonnaise into his hair at irregular intervals for the next eight weeks.”

She smiled. “What are you going to do to Carlton?”

Gus winced. “I can't help you there, he still kind of scares me. I guess I could sign him up for PETA.”

“PETA is an awful organization—try to find something that specializes in squirrels or the Democratic Party.”

“Noted.” Gus grinned and sipped his tea again. “And it's not impossible that one of them might have another idea about what to do. Not likely, no, but over the years I've learned to never completely discount Shawn's ingenuity.”

She nodded and picked up her fork; her fruit looked a little mushy now, but she made herself put it in her mouth and chew anyway. Before Gus had to go back to his routes to make another appointment, Juliet hugged him tightly and whispered her thanks in his ear. He hugged her back, and she thought that the next time she caught Shawn taking him for granted, she was going to start mixing Jif and Miracle Whip herself.


	13. All Worked Up

Shawn was in the middle of getting moderately railed when Jules came home. He heard their apartment door open and tried to stifle his cries, just on the very off-chance that someone was with her (it wasn't like he was checking his phone for messages at the moment), but then Lassy lifted his leg up higher and thrust into him right in _that spot_ and that was the end of any chance in hell of him keeping quiet. Nuh uh, no way, not with Lassy fucking him so hard and so good that he was nearly lightheaded. His eyes rolled back and he tried to gasp in more air, but it rushed out of him immediately as his body was slammed into the bed.

“Guh, ugh, fuck, Lass, fuck, fuckme, god, ungh, mmm, oh, oh, _oh_ ,” he almost chanted, his pitch going higher when he saw Lassy's eyes blaze and knew he was on the verge of coming. A split second later, Lassy's hand (the one not gripping his calf so tightly he would have bruises tomorrow) slid around his dick and he squeezed it; he stroked it to the base and then to the head, rubbed his palm over the head, wrapped his fingers around it in the absolute perfect grip and Shawn happily lost it, barely noticing Jules watching from the doorway as he threw his head back and said “Lassylassylassylassy” like a mantra. 

Lassy let go of his leg, which Shawn immediately wrapped around his lower back, and fell forward onto him. He was trying to catch his breath, and on one exhale he closed his eyes and said Shawn's name like that was all he ever needed to say, and sometimes it was. Shawn moaned again, just a little one, because it was _so good_ , and when Lassy propped himself up again on one arm, and held the hand Shawn had come over close to his face, Shawn raised his neck enough to suck down two of his fingers, locking their eyes and squeezing him closer with his legs again. Lassy rubbed his fingers over Shawn's tongue for a few seconds, and then he pulled his hand back, planted both on the mattress, and leaned down to kiss him. Shawn tried to swallow the come on his lips as quickly as he could before Lassy stuck his tongue in his mouth, knowing he didn't like it that much, and then he sighed in complete satisfaction when Lassy pulled back slightly, gave him another kiss on the cheek, and pushed himself up. Shawn let his legs fall back and then he turned his head to grin at Juliet, who was smiling at them. 

“Hi Jules,” he greeted, and Lassy glanced up to her too as he reached for the shirt Shawn had been wearing to wipe himself off.

“Hi,” she said. “Do either of you have plans for tonight?”

“Nothing definite,” Lassy said. “There was something on TV I wanted to watch.”

“I plan to... maybe get up. Sometime. Within the next day or so at least,” Shawn said, pausing for another sigh in the middle.

“I was hoping you could make it within the next half hour or so,” Juliet said, raising her eyebrows a little, and Shawn looked at her more closely when he saw a somewhat anxious look in her eyes. 

He sat up, making only a little face at the wet spot on the sheet as he crossed his legs. “What is it?”

She hesitated for just a second, but then Lassy looked at her too, and she licked her lips. “Chinese?”

Lassiter now looked utterly baffled, and Shawn said, “I think you're supposed to say Asian-American?”

“ _Food_ , Shawn. I brought food.”

“Oh, well you should have said so.”

“That was a little vague,” Lassy said. “But thank you, I am hungry. Five minutes for a quick shower?”

Juliet nodded. “I'll get the table set. Hurry up, I have something I want to talk to you two about.”

“Oh no, I'm pregnant!” Shawn said. “But I don't know if I'm the real mother. I think we might need to get Jerry Springer involved.”

“You're an idiot,” Lassy told him as Juliet rolled her eyes a little and headed toward the kitchen, and he held out a hand to help him to his feet. “Are you coming?”

Shawn stood up. “I... well, I'll need a few minutes, but sure, why not?”

“To the _shower_.”

“Ah, yes, of course, always a good idea to help Mother Nature and save water. I _love_ saving water.”

Fifteen minutes later, with both Shawn and Lassy sparkling clean (Lassy hadn't even wanted to get handsy with the shampoo suds, the soapy spoilsport) and everyone sitting down to dinner, Shawn tilted his head at Juliet, who was giving her plate such a contemplative look he was tempted to ask if she'd accidentally ordered the Moo Shu Magic Eye meal. When she looked up, he was glad he hadn't, because she was obviously steeling herself for something. Shawn felt a chilly worm of unease twist in his stomach, and he put down his fork to show he was actually paying attention. Lassiter looked up when he heard Shawn's fork leave his hand and he gave him a moderately surprised look before glancing at Juliet and realizing why. 

Juliet saw both of them looking at her and she smiled slightly. “We all need to have a talk,” she said slowly. “It's important. To us, the three of us as we are, and to me. There's a decision to be made... and it would mean a lot to me that both of you understand and are on board.”

“Sure,” Shawn said, trying to tell himself there was nothing to worry about, although his eyes told him a different story, and he'd grown up to trust them. Jules was steeling herself, all right—what she had to say was either going to be difficult or bad. Or both. Lassiter folded his hands on the table and gave her his undivided attention as well.

“I've been thinking a lot about the three of us, and how well we fit together, and how happy we are,” she said slowly. “The bottom line there is that I believe we work, and that we're all in agreement that we love each other, that we're happy together, and that we want to stay like we are.” She looked at them and seemed to realize that she'd unnerved them both now; Shawn knew his eyes were too wide, and Lassy looked wary. “I'm not about to suggest we make any changes to our relationship,” she added quickly. “I'm only saying that I don't think any of us want changes.”

“That's somewhat of an odd thing to bring up,” Lassiter said, frowning now.

“That's the base, to give whatever she's going to say the liftoff point,” Shawn said, and when Jules looked at him and raised her eyebrows again, he shrugged. “Steps to successful arguing with Henry. I'm definitely on board with us all being happy and staying together, but what's the decision?”

“The decision is... what we're going to do about the rumors that keep cropping up about us, mostly at the department.” Juliet's eyes suddenly blazed when Lassiter scoffed, and Shawn would have kicked him under the table if the leg wasn't in the way. “Carlton, I know that you don't consider them worthy of attention, but let me tell you, I do. I'm of the opinion that we need to do some serious damage control—to take preventative measures so that they don't get worse, or that they stop. If we don't, we're headed for trouble—the type that poses a serious threat to us. I need you to take me very seriously right now.”

There was silence for a moment while Lassiter considered Juliet, she looked back at him steadily, and Shawn fidgeted with a hangnail he'd just discovered and hoped Lassy would recognize that she was highly stressed out about something and that he needed to not push her. “All right,” he said finally. “I'm listening.”

“Good,” she said softly, holding his eyes. “Because this affects me and you quite a bit more than Shawn.” She glanced at him now. “It affects you too, but it's our place of employment and our co-workers that's the problem.”

“I just don't know why you let any of them get to you,” Lassiter said, and Shawn restrained himself from throwing a handful of noodles at him. “None of them know what they're talking about, they don't actually pose a threat to you or to me or to us.”

“You're wrong,” Juliet said, a muscle jumping in her jaw.

Lassiter looked annoyed. “How so? There are tons of rumors that fly around in every police department every day, it's not—” He stopped suddenly as a hunk of cabbage bounced off his cheek. He turned his head slowly to look at Shawn, who had another concealed in his hand, just in case. “Did you just throw your food at me?” he asked.

“Um... yes.”

His eyes narrowed. “And why did you do that?”

“It's icky wabbit food.”

“Shawn,” he said warningly. 

Shawn let out his breath and stared at his plate for a moment, absolutely not reminded of dinners with his parents. “Because Jules is really upset about something, and you're being a dick,” he said finally. “She said she had something important to say, that it could actually affect us, and how often does she really get like this without a good reason? You said you were going to listen, but you won't let her talk. Just because you don't think there's anything to see doesn't mean there isn't.” He looked up now, annoyed himself. “And besides, that's not even the point. She specifically asked you to take her seriously and you just blew off the first thing she said. Is you on the team or isn't you?”

There was another tense moment when Lassiter continued to glare at Shawn, and then he wiped at his cheek. “Don't throw lettuce at me,” he said.

“Just lettuce, or anything? Because I'm pretty sure that was cabbage.” Shawn shrugged when Lassy gave him another look. “Okay, I won't throw my food, or my drink, or my foot. But you need to recognize Quiet Time, because Jules has the floor, and we need to listen to what she wants to say. Or isn't she important enough to decide that she has something important we need to hear?” His heart was beating a little too hard at the confrontation—the first real possible-fight the three of them were edging toward since they'd started this, but he wasn't backing down. He just hoped Lassy would give and they could move on instead of making it worse.

“Of course she is,” Lassiter said.

“You're damn right,” Shawn said, and held the other man's gaze when he glanced back again. Then they both looked at Juliet, who was still watching Lassiter coldly. 

“Thank you, Shawn,” she said after a moment. “Normally I would remind you that I can handle myself—”

“Which I totally know,” he said quickly, “but I kinda thought you were about to lose it, and that would have really turned into a fight, and I just—I don't like—”

She seemed to realize what it had reminded him of, and her expression softened. “I was,” she admitted. “I'm sorry. I'm a little touchy right now... I think in a few minutes, once I explain how I'm seeing things, you'll both understand why.”

 _Apologize too_ , Shawn thought at Lassy, hard, but he didn't catch that one. “Go ahead,” he said instead.

She reached for her glass and took a long drink, setting it back down with lines of worry crossing her forehead. “Carlton, I know you don't like to hear it, or to think it, but you really are wrong in this case. It's true that rumors are a part of life, and it's also true that most of the time they don't mean anything and don't go anywhere. But sometimes they do. Please don't tell me you've forgotten Detective Barry, and what happened to her when your relationship was outed.”

Lassiter shot Shawn a look, which he ignored—that had actually been Lassy's fault just as much as Shawn starting the whole psychic thing to begin with. He'd liked Detective Barry, who had actually taken a few minutes to listen to him. “Of course I haven't,” Lassiter said.

“She was transferred away, correct?”

He paused, not liking her prompting him into a trap. “Yes, but—”

“And you could have lost your job, or been demoted, or also been transferred.”

“But you're no longer my partner,” he said quickly. “You and I hardly ever work on the same cases anymore.”

Shawn readied the cabbage he still had in his hand on his palm, setting the fingers of his other hand behind it in a flicking position, and then he caught Juliet's eye and set it down. “That is not the point,” she told Lassiter. 

He opened his mouth as if to argue again, seemed to remember the reactions that had caused before, and closed it. He thought for a moment while looking at her, and then he shrugged. “Okay. Please explain the point.”

Juliet just looked at him for a long moment, so long that Shawn started to fidget again as he felt the tension build. Why couldn't Lassy pick up what she was putting down? He was pretty sure he got it, but he wasn't sure if chiming in again was going to turn her exasperation on him.

“The point,” she said quietly, “is that I've been doing some hard thinking. We've had three potentially serious threats to our relationship since you moved back, and it hasn't even been a year. Don't look at Shawn like that, we've been over it and moved on from blame. I'm only counting it because of the lesson involved. Buzz seeing you two, Gates watching you too closely, Mullins watching you and letting you know he knew your car was here—that last one could have been a blackmail attempt, we don't know. More and more people talking about you and me. The point is that eventually, someone is going to notice something and put it together. Whether you like to think about it or not, that poses a serious problem. And,” she went on, when Lassiter opened his mouth again, looking agitated, “the point is that whether or not you think no one will ever know, or no one will care, or no one will make anything of it... _I_ do. Not only do I think it possible, I think it likely. The point is that no matter how much of a risk it is... it is a risk.” She glanced at Shawn and then returned her attention to Lassiter. “Can either of you tell me that you honestly believe we can keep it a secret from everyone, forever? Particularly when we both work so closely with a lot of the same people? And that anyone that finds out isn't going to get nosy, or take a moral high ground, or not call us names behind our backs—or to our faces—and then put our good standings with our jobs and the city at risk?”

“Nope,” Shawn said at once. “I think it's what I said when Buzz saw me and Lassy that time—just because it's none of their business doesn't mean they won't try to nose in and tell us we're wrong. It's not fair, but that's the way it is.” Shawn looked at Lassy now, who had leaned back in his chair and folded his arms across his chest. “Man, you were _so_ mad when Buzz walked in that room and then ran out when he realized what we were doing. You were all about the 'what if people find out' _then_.”

“I... agree that there is a risk,” he said grudgingly.

“Okay, then why are you not taking this as a big fat warning right now?”

“Because I don't know what to do about it!” Lassiter snapped. “People talk. You can't stop them— _nothing_ will stop the unwashed masses from flapping their jaws about things they don't understand. That's why I have never cared what anyone has said about me—they're jealous that I know what I want and get ahead in life. It's not my responsibility to police the gossip that goes around, especially when it can't be done and any attempt to try will only make it worse.”

“So you are worried,” Jules said, very quietly.

He shrugged, a sour expression on his face. “I was under the impression that ever since Gates and Mullins left us alone, things had evened out to the normal break room blather.”

“I told you that it hasn't—I tried telling both of you that last week, and you both blew me off.”

Shawn thought back to the conversation, recalling himself asking, like a smart ass, who else he'd have to get fired. Then he realized that while Lassy had gone on some bluster about people being jealous, Juliet had looked away from them both, and that she'd been quiet the rest of the night. “Shit,” he muttered. “I'm sorry, sweetheart. I'm totally hearing you now.”

“Thank you.” She looked at Lassy. “I'm pressing this because _I'm_ worried,” she said. “I meant what I said at the beginning—I don't want to stop being us. I'm anxious that things have the potential to snowball, and that if we don't take it seriously now, we may not be able to save things later. Can you see that?”

Lassiter nodded once, his arms still folded.

“Can you see that whether or not we like it, and whether or not it's fair, it very well may come down to a choice between both you and me working at the SBPD—or you, and me, and Shawn, staying together?”

Shawn's mouth dropped open in surprise, but that was nothing to the thunderstruck look on Lassy's face. “You're not serious,” he said sharply, before realizing that she was far more serious than he'd wanted to consider.

“I am,” she said. “It's not fair, but I honestly believe that sooner or later that will become our choice.” She paused, and then went on, more softly. “And if we wait until later, it may not be much of a choice.”

“It's not much of a choice either way, Juliet.”

“I know it isn't. To put it mildly, you and I both love our jobs, and we're both very good at them. But we work for the city, and we're expected to uphold certain standards—the notion of 'morality', for one, and I kind of doubt being in a three-way relationship falls under that category. As the head detective, you might get away with a girlfriend on the force, and you might get away with a boyfriend. Where do you factor the chances you'll still be the head detective if it gets to Chief Vick, or to a member of the council, that you have both?”

He just looked at her for a moment, and then he frowned. “Are you—are you suggesting that our time is limited? Because you know damn well I find those chances roughly zero percent, and you've said or implied several times that that scenario is inevitable.”

“I think it's inevitable if we do nothing; if we keep pretending there's nothing to worry about.”

“And what is it that you suggest we do?”

Jules took another deep breath. “I have an idea... but I'm going to say right now that while I think it will work, I don't like it.”

“Okay,” Shawn said nervously.

She gave him a quick smile. “It's nothing that you can do. Do both of you remember when I said that I saw the choices as A) keeping our relationship, or B) both Carlton and I keeping our jobs?”

Shawn thought he knew what her solution was now, and he darted a quick look at Lassy, hoping so hard his toes wiggled that he was going to be good about this, because it wasn't fair that Jules was going to sacrifice something she loved for him—for her love for him—if he couldn't at least understand how hard it was for her and appreciate her for it. Or at the very, very least, to not be a self-serving d-bag as long as things worked out for him. “Yeah, I do,” Shawn said.

“Yes,” Lassy said warily. 

She licked her lips. “If we make the choice ourselves, now, instead of being forced into it later, I think we'll have more control over the outcome.” She looked at Shawn. “Do you think that, above all else, we should keep what we have?”

He smiled a little. “Yeah. But that particular set of choices doesn't really cash out with my two cents, does it?”

Jules looked at Lassy. “What do you think?” she asked softly, almost as if she was afraid to hear his answer.

He was so still that Shawn had to look closely to make sure he was breathing. Finally he blinked, sat up slowly, put an elbow on the table, and rested his forehead against his palm. “You're suggesting that either the three of us stay together, or one of us no longer works for the police department,” he said to his plate.

“Yes,” she said. “As a preventative measure.”

Lassiter seemed to be thinking—or at least Shawn just had a feeling he was, as he remained in that position for a long, long moment. No one spoke or even seemed to breathe. When Lassy sat up, Jules was the one who looked wary, and Shawn found his mouth very dry. “I don't mean to sound insensitive,” Lassiter said slowly, and Shawn groaned internally, because boy could that man be insensitive, and that was coming from _him_ , someone Gus chastised at least once a week on tact. Juliet waited patiently, and Shawn thought he saw her steeling herself again. “But is that someone going to be you?”

“ _Wow_ , Lassy,” Shawn said.

Lassiter gave him an irritated look. “Wow, what? I'm higher in rank, I have more seniority, I have more experience, and I have a bigger arrest record.” He looked back at Jules, his irritation drying up at the hurt look on her face. He started to speak, stopped, and let his breath out, eyes back on his plate. Shawn tried to catch Juliet's eye, but she wouldn't look at him. Finally Lassiter looked back up. “I'm asking if you've thought farther than posing the question,” he said. “And I'm—I'm asking, not demanding.”

Juliet sighed, and Shawn wanted to throw everything that was left of his now-cold meal at Lassy when he saw her shoulder slump—fractionally, but he was sure they had. “Yes,” she said softly. “I'm thinking City Hall. I may have a contact for a position there, and I think I can get adjusted there without much fuss.”

Lassiter hesitated. “Have you spoken to the chief about this?”

“No. I wanted to know what the two of you thought.”

“I think it sucks,” Shawn said. When Jules looked at him, he reached over and held out a hand, and was very glad when she reached to take it. “I'm sorry that you even have to consider this,” he said. “No matter how it turns out, you'll always be one of Santa Barbara's very finest to me.”

That got him the edge of a smile. “Thank you, Shawn.”

“I agree that it's unfair,” Lassiter said slowly. “You really are one of the best detectives I've ever worked with, and I'll be sorry to lose you from my team and from the force. You really feel that this is necessary?”

“Unless you can think of another way to protect us,” she said pointedly. “I love Shawn, and I love you, and I love us together. I don't want to leave... but I can stand to. I don't think I can stand being worried every day that someone's going to figure out what we are and—for any number of reasons—make life so difficult for us that we either fall apart or are broken. If I'm no longer at the SBPD, then there's already so much less of a chance of people seeing us every day and putting it together. We keep exercising caution—obviously no PDAs except possibly me and Shawn, since we're 'official', no lunches, no being seen together at all, if we can help it. Your Fusion is so popular that I don't foresee it being a problem if it's in our lot here, unlike your Camaro with the stripe on the side. And even if it is noticed, it'll be much less of an issue that we're all friendly if you and I no longer work together.”

“You don't think it'll be a cause for rumors that there have been rumors, and now you're transferring out?”

“There are many reasons people eventually feel that police work isn't for them in the long run,” she said, although she winced a little as if it hurt. “Not counting the horrible cases and the terrible people we come face-to-face with every day, there's the simple fact of danger. If I need to eventually give a reason other than 'it's personal'—like to Chief Vick, who probably deserves something more—I'm sure Shawn wouldn't mind if I said he was getting more and more worried about my safety.”

“That's true,” he said. “I mean—I know you can handle your bidness, but... cops get seriously hurt all the time, dealing with murderers and drug bugs.”

“And I can still do good work and help people at City Hall.” It was quiet for another long moment, and then Jules sighed. “So... just to make it official, that's what's going to happen now? Can you both support me in this, so that we can stay like we are?”

“Absolutely,” Shawn said immediately, squeezing her hand. “Anything you need. I'm really sorry that it came up, and if there was anything else I could do, I would be on it like Gus on pudding. Or me on pudding.” He cocked an eyebrow at her. “Or maybe some pudding on you, a little later. I feel dessert coming on.”

“That's because you didn't eat your dinner.”

“I was too busy trying not to throw it at Lassy.”

Lassiter frowned again. “I said I was sorry if I sounded insensitive. I really don't want to lose you, Juliet—the whole department is going to take a hit with you gone.” He sighed. “But I suppose if it really does come down to a choice, as much as it does suck, I'd rather lose you as a detective than lose you—us—as we are.”

“That's kind of what I was thinking,” she said, but she sighed. 

Later, after pretending to talk about other things and eating their cold meals, Jules went to relax in a bubble bath (Shawn had offered to join her, to rub her shoulders and, okay, maybe to have her for dessert as was previously suggested, but she'd just smiled at him tiredly and said she'd like some quiet time to herself), and Shawn found Lassy in his chair in the living room, another open case file on his lap. He walked up to him and yanked the folder away, resisting an urge to fling it across the room (or out of the window).

Lassiter tried to grab for it, but Shawn stepped away too quickly. “The hell are you doing?” he snapped. “I don't need your help on this.”

“You need some kind of help,” Shawn said, and sat on the edge of the coffee table. “You know how I sometimes say the clueless bunny thing is adorable? Well, sometimes you're just a clueless a-hole.”

“I'm an a-hole,” Lassiter said, as if he was trying to get it straight.

“Dat's wight, wabbit.”

“And why is that?”

Shawn rolled his eyes. “Come on Lassy, don't be an unsanitary napkin. I get the 'wanting to pretend serious stuff isn't there because it's scary' thing, I really, really do. We were both d-bags when she tried to tell us before that she was worried about something getting in the way of us, but tonight I think you really hurt her.”

“I didn't mean—”

“Look man, do you love her?”

“You know I do.”

“Then stop being defensive and look at it from her perspective. She loves being a cop, a detective. Don't even say that you do too, because I'm not talking about you. She loves it, and she's good at it, and she's willing to give it up for us—for you, since it sounds like you have the most to lose, at least job-wise, if we're found out. And you didn't even, like... thank her. Or seem like it meant something to you that she's doing that. All you said was 'OH GOD NO NOT MY JOB' and then 'welp, sorry to see you go'.”

“Jesus Christ, Shawn, I did not.”

“In so many words, you did,” he insisted. “The very first thing you said when she even got there was 'it's you that's leaving your job not me right'. Then you listed off all the reasons your job is more important than hers. Then you were all 'oh I'm sorry you're not going to be on the force anymore'.”

“I said that because I know how much it means to her,” Lassiter said angrily. “I wanted her to know that I'm taking her loss seriously.”

“The department's loss, you mean. What about her loss? Of the job she loves and kicks ass at? City Hall, big fucking whoop, she gets to print the red tape instead of working around it to catch criminals. She's going to miss the PD more than I miss Arrested Development. Going to work is going to turn into another sucky day job that drains her spirit and wastes her potential, and she knows it. But she's doing it anyway so that we don't even have to risk not being us anymore.”

Lassiter threw up his hands. “What was I supposed to do? Please, tell me. If she thinks the risks are that serious, then I agree that both of us working for the SBPD is no longer a viable option. Was I supposed to try to talk her out of it?”

“Would you still agree if she pressed for _you_ to transfer out?”

Lassy gave him a sour look. “I don't know what sort of answer you're expecting.”

“I think that was it.”

“So what are you saying, that I'm a selfish dick?”

Shawn sighed. “Sometimes, yeah.”

“And the actions I should have taken instead are...?”

Shawn shrugged. “I don't know. She already had this planned out when we sat down, so I guess it would have washed out the same. But, like... I don't know, you could have done the check dance.”

“The what?”

“The ch—the 'I've got it', 'No, I've got it', 'No, I insist', 'After you', “After _you_ '.”

Lassy was frowning. “I should have offered to be the one to leave, even though she was already willing to go.”

“Yup.”

“Why?”

“Because... manners.” Shawn was getting frustrated, not knowing how to explain what he felt about Juliet's current mood and everything that had gone down. Or, rather, the way it had. Where was Gus's nutshelling when a man actually needed it? “To make her feel like she was important enough for you to even consider leaving the thing you love more than anything in the entire world, because maybe, just maybe, you actually love her more. Even though you didn't want to, even though she was going to go anyway. In a restaurant, even if both people know who's paying, you pretend to fight over the check because it's just money. Lassy, I mean, Jesus. It's just a job. And it's _Jules_. Right?”

“That would have been insincere pretense,” Lassiter said. “I wouldn't insult her intelligence with that twaddle.”

“Then... you have to make her know that you understand what she's giving up. Pretend it's your job that's going bye-bye, if that's what it takes.”

“Why didn't she just say she was going to transfer in the first place?”

Shawn shrugged again. “Probably to give you a chance to dance, man. To see if your reaction was going to be 'okay so let's discuss which of us should go' or, you know, everything you said instead.”

Lassiter's scowl deepened. “I don't like being worked,” he said after a moment. “It feels like there's no right answer and I'm being set up for failure.”

“...what? Why would Jules want you to say the wrong thing? I'm pretty sure she wanted your support more than anything.”

“I do support her. I just don't understand why she had to 'give me a chance to dance' when she knew I wasn't going to want to leave my job. Why does my reaction need testing when she already had her course of action planned?”

“I dunno, because you're closed-off about what you really feel when it's anything other than some form of anger or irritation? I don't blame Jules at all for wanting to see if she could find out what you really felt about her idea by leaving it open and seeing what you did. If she would have just said, 'Oh by the way we're on the edge of being outed so I'm gonna transfer out', you probably would have just been like, 'are you sure the department will miss you' and that would have been that. She wanted to know how you really felt, and asking wouldn't have got anywhere.”

“But now she's upset,” Lassy said. “That's what I mean about being set up for failure. She wasn't surprised that I reacted with concern for my job—she's not at all stupid, she has to know how I feel about it. So why does she need confirmation that I can be a selfish prick?”

Shawn held his hands out, palms up. “To give you the chance to not be one.”

“Maybe that's who I am.”

Shawn shook his head. “No, I don't think so. It's just something you can be sometimes. You can work on it. If I didn't think so—if we didn't, we wouldn't have ever bothered. You're a lot of things, Lass, and most of them we love, or admire. Like how much you've thawed since you met Jules in a bar and I came home super-wasted and got in your lap.” There was a long pause in which they both looked at each other and neither spoke. “The more you open up, the more we see of you, the more we love you,” Shawn said softly. “But you can still be pretty cold, you can still shut us out. There's times you do or say something and I look at her because I have no idea, and she just shrugs at me, or vicey versey.”

“You two communicate on a level I'll never reach,” Lassy said. 

“No, I don't think that's true. I just think there's so much of you that you've got walled off still. And I know a lot of that is bad experiences in school and with your ex and all of that crap. But this is us, man. If we're going to make this really work, you have to know that we need you keep opening up.” He paused. “She was just trying to work you the way you're built, or at least the way you're currently functioning. She'll get over it, because like you said, I'm sure she knew that was a better than average chance you were going to say what you did. That's why she wasn't surprised, why she was just disappointed instead of mad or even indignant. You just need to make it up to her.”

Lassiter sighed. “How do I do that? Am I supposed to dance now?”

“Maybe if you're talking the Horizontal Bop.” Shawn grinned at Lassy's impatient look. “No man, just, like... make a big deal about what she's doing. It is a big deal, so realize it, don't fake it. Get the chief to authorize a going-away party, or something, so that people can tell her what an impact she made and how much good she did. And then privately, with us, let her know that you get that she's giving up a part of herself so that we can all still be our Musketeers.” He paused again. “That's actually not a bad analogy—one for all, she's doing it for all of us. And all for one, we need to show her we love her and appreciate her sacrifice. And then don't ever forget it, either what she was, or what she did. Ask for her help with the cases you bring home sometimes, even if you don't think you need it.”

“She'll see through that.”

Shawn shrugged. “So? What she'll see is you making an effort, and she'll know that you really get it.”

Lassy pressed his lips together. “I don't like faking things,” he said after a moment. “I will if I have to, but I've been told my acting is sub-par and that it makes my intentions seem all the more contrived.”

Shawn scoffed. “Who told you that?”

“You.”

“Oh. Well... you know, it's really not that much of a bad thing to go out of your way to make someone feel appreciated and loved. I'm pretty sure that if she thinks 'oh no he's doing this thing because he wants me to feel needed not because he really needs my help', then the part she's going to focus on is the 'he wants me to feel needed' bit.” Shawn stood up and held out the case file he was still holding. “Try, Lassy, okay? Trust me. She's doing this thing for us, you can do that thing for her.”

Lassiter sighed and took back his folder. “I'll try.”

“That's all I ask. And that's all she wants—even if it's obvious what you're doing. She'll know you're trying, and that counts.” Shawn suddenly stepped closer to the chair, so that he could drop down, curl his legs underneath himself, and lay his cheek on one of Lassy's knees, keeping their eyes locked. “Everything counts now,” he said softly. “We're not screwing around, we're not playing house. If you didn't know it for sure before, then her doing this should show you once and for all that we _love_ you, and we want this to work. You gotta be all in.” He put on a hippie voice. “ _Prioritize, man_.” 

Lassy smiled just a little. “I understand. I—I promise that I'm going to try harder. I love the two of you and I want this too.”

Shawn smiled. “Good.” He kissed Lassy's leg and then nodded at the file. “You sure you don't want help with that? It's just, that's the same one you brought home three days in a row,” he went on quickly when Lassiter slid his eyes over. “And I'm not asking just for me. You know I'll look if you want me to, and sometimes even when you don't, but... we could make it a group activity.”

Lassy sighed. “Fine,” he said after a moment. “I suppose it can't hurt. I'll go lay it out on the table, why don't you go see if Juliet—”

Shawn gently tugged the file out of his hands. “Other way around.” Lassy looked at him skeptically, and Shawn nodded encouragingly. “If she doesn't, she doesn't, but what _can_ hurt right now is not reaching out. Go. Hurry up, I'm timing you.” He sat back and put on his best expectant look.

Lassy drummed his fingers on his thigh for a few seconds, and then he got up and headed for the bathroom. Shawn smiled and took the case into the kitchen, where he pulled out photos and notes and witness statements and photocopies and originals and interview transcripts, making everything into piles. He was just pouring them all a round of drinks when Lassy came back into the kitchen, an uncertain expression still on his face. Shawn started to shoot him a questioning look, and then Jules was there, in her shorty summer robe. She gave Shawn such a piercing look that he blinked and started to feel nervous as Lassy sat down and leaned his forehead into his hands, glaring at the contents of the case file. Then Juliet smiled at Shawn and sat down, reaching for the stack of photos.

“Maybe you can figure out what it is about this statement that's bothering me,” Lassiter said to Jules, pulling one of the interview transcripts in front of her. “I keep going over it, and I know there's something I'm missing, but I'm just not seeing it.” He shrugged. “That seems to be one of my biggest problems.”

“No worries, I'll help you if I can,” she said lightly. 

Shawn sat down and took a huge gulp of his vodka and pineapple juice—he'd added lemon-lime soda to it this time, giving it a pleasant fuzziness with its carbonation. “Sweet,” he said. “Next you can get to work on his bad haircut.”


	14. Moving On

**  
JUNE 2010**

  
Within a couple of weeks, Juliet's transfer from the police department to City Hall was set up and she was finishing her last case. She'd insisted that she didn't want any sort of party as she left her job, because she still didn't feel like there was anything to celebrate, and the idea that it focus on her achievements as a detective only made her feel worse. Chief Vick had understood and had managed to cut down Detective Antillo, who had started planning a party in secret anyway—just a small one, with a cake and some flowers, but even that was too much; she was grateful to him for trying, but she was even more grateful to Vick for finding out about it and putting a stop to it. She was planning to go out tonight with Shawn—just Shawn, as going out with Carlton too would seem fishy, and he was content to wait for them back at the apartment anyway (she had the distinct feeling he was doing his off-duty casework when she wasn't at home lately)—and that was going to be enough. It was going to have to be.

Her last day both dragged on and zipped by, getting trapped at her desk doing paperwork, but getting stopped every few minutes by people dropping by to say that they were going to miss her, or to wish her luck at her new job, or both. She smiled and thanked them, and parried questions about why she was going at all with a pointed sigh at the pile of folders she was still working on. Carlton was actually rather scarce through the morning and most of the afternoon while looking at a crime scene; she knew Shawn had talked to him about his reactions to their talk that night, and ever since he'd been obviously uncertain how to treat her career change—what to say about it, what to say to her. She hoped that once she was in her new position things would get better, because they were a little awkward right now, which didn't help her somewhat dispirited mood. 

At around three-thirty, Carlton and another new transfer, Detective Yoshida, came in with a suspect in custody, followed by Shawn and Gus, who were both sporting the pleased looks she knew to mean they'd contributed enough to the case to be paid. Juliet sat back at her desk, ignoring everything and watching Shawn follow Carlton into the chief's office and almost immediately begin flailing as he told his version of what had happened and how he'd helped solve the crime. Gus hung back for a few seconds, long enough to glance at Juliet and give her a smile and a shrug. She smiled back at him, and he went into Vick's office as well, presumably to translate whatever Shawn was trying to pass off as a psychic vision enough to earn them a check.

When five o'clock came, she dawdled, packing up the rest of her desk into a carton, looking around the room and seeing herself, and Carlton, and Shawn and Gus, and Chief Vick and Officer McNab and Detective Antillo, and all of the times they'd blown cases open, the times they'd chased down leads and prowled the floor, bouncing ideas off each other and coming up with the answers. The times they'd drank weak coffee and poured over boxes of evidence, the times they'd stayed late typing up reports, the times they'd sat in silence when another new victim was discovered and the suspect got away. This room, this building, had been her _life_ for four years, and she'd never envisioned that that would be all. 

Her desk was neat and clean now, bare except for the computer and the pad of Post-Its with the pink pen nearby. She'd decided to leave them for the next occupant; it was like leaving a little of herself behind. She lowered her head and picked up the box of everything she'd still needed today, and when she turned around Shawn was there, his thumbs tucked into his pockets and an uncertain smile on his face. “Hey,” he said.

She tried to give him a smile back and thought she made a pretty good one—this was for him, and for Carlton, and for _them_ , and part of her was doing this gladly. “Hi,” she said. “All done.”

He held his hands out. “Carry your books home from school for you?”

She shook her head. “I've got it.”

Shawn smiled again. “Yeah, you do.” He paused. “I know you're not really ready, but... are you ready?”

She let out a breath and nodded. He stepped aside to allow her past, and they walked, very slowly, down the hall toward the exit. She looked at everything, trying to memorize every detail she'd nonchalantly walked past every day, so that she could close her eyes and see it all any time she wanted. Shawn walked slightly faster so that he could get the door for her, but he just managed to open it when Detectives Antillo and Dobson came in fast, a struggling woman in handcuffs between them. Juliet stood close to Shawn and watched as they made a racket—and their way—down toward the hall that led to the interview rooms. Detective Antillo saw Juliet and Shawn as he came in, and he walked backwards for two steps, just long enough to give her a salute and a wave before turning and hurrying to catch up. Juliet smiled and held up her hand to his back, and then she stepped through the doors and onto the step outside.

Shawn offered her his hand again. “Carry your hand?” he asked quietly. 

The carton she was carrying was light, and her heart felt a little more so now that she'd made it into the sun and she had Shawn next to her. She balanced the box in one arm and gave him her hand as they walked to her car, and when he told her he loved her and gently squeezed her fingers, she let herself cry a little, both grieving a loss and full of hope.

When they got home, they found Carlton in the kitchen, just finishing sweeping a stack of paper into a folder and then sliding it into his briefcase. He looked up as they entered, ignored Shawn—who was tipsy-babbling about a good-cop/bad-cop/naughty suspect scenario he'd seen in a movie that he wanted to “make bedroomy”—and held his arms out to her. She'd had three drinks while out with Shawn, not enough to impair her ability to help whup a pair of mid-30s fratboy types that saw her and Shawn playing pool and offered to her breasts that they play teams, but enough to help her spirits raise a little, especially after the two guys stared open-mouthed when Shawn made a spectacular break and then she'd cleaned up almost all of the rest of their stripes on her turn. She stepped into Carlton's arms and wrapped her own around his waist, and he gently put his hands on her face, tipping it up to kiss her. 

“...and then the good cop is the naughty cop, the bad cop is still in cuffs, and the suspect is everybody's good, good boy,” Shawn said, jumping up onto the counter and kicking his heels against the cabinet. 

Carlton looked at him, frowning a little. “The hell are you talking about?”

“It's a _script_ , Lassy, pay attention.”

“Uh huh, and who's assuming which role?”

Shawn grilled brilliantly. “I kinda think that's obvious, Officer Po-Po.”

Juliet snickered and put one hand over her mouth at the indignant look on Carlton's face. “I should spank your ass for that,” he snapped.

Shawn's eyes widened. “Oh, you _should_. We can totally work that into the game.”

Carlton was still glaring at him. “You're not having any game.”

“All-contrairey, I have more game than Hasbro and the Parker Brothers combined. I have fame for my game. I—”

Juliet poked Shawn to get him to stop rambling. “Your game is a little tame, I'm sorry.”

Shawn looked almost as indignant at that as Carlton had to the 'Po-Po' taunt. “That's not what you said the first time we played.” He looked at Carlton. “There she stands, all the same, called the game lame, but then she came.”

“I'd rather improvise,” Juliet said. She stepped back and then turned to go into the bedroom, knowing an instant before she heard Shawn hop back down from the counter that both of her guys would follow.

When they got into the bedroom, Juliet's eyes fell on Carlton's badge, which he'd set on top of one of the dressers after he'd gotten off work; she knew her face was falling a little, but she couldn't help it. She'd done it for them, and she wasn't sorry—she would do it again in a heartbeat, but that didn't mean she wasn't sorry it had come to it.

She could see both Carlton and Shawn noticing her out of the corner of her eye, and just as she was getting ready to drag her gaze away from his badge ( _Santa Barbara Police Department_ ), Shawn's slim fingers suddenly snatched it up and hooked it over the collar of his shirt. Juliet looked at him, amused, while Carlton looked offended.

“Look at me,” Shawn said, and thumbed it. “I'm Sheriff Spencer. Howdy howdy howdy.”

“That looks nothing like a Sheriff's badge,” Carlton said, and he reached for it.

Shawn slapped his hand. “Watch it, varmint, or I'll have you in the cooling tank. Or in the back room, whichever's coziest.” He glanced at Juliet and tipped an imaginary hat. “Don't worry ma'am. I'll protect the new schoolmarm from ruffians.”

“By doing them?” she asked, smiling.

“If that's what it takes, I'll hold the duties of my office through hard times.” He glanced down at his groin, sticking his hands into his pockets. “Almost hard times. C'mon, little Matt Dillon—no one's an Outsider here.”

“Yeah, you're going to have to stop encouraging your dick,” Carlton said dryly.

“Don't tell me how to live my life, Lass.”

“And give me my b—” Carlton froze in the middle of reaching for Shawn's collar again, this time because Shawn had yanked a hand from his pocket and neatly clicked the bracelet of a handcuff over his wrist, all in a smooth, single second. Carlton had just enough time to look at him incredulously before Shawn yanked on the other side of the chain, pulling him forward a step, and closing the second bracelet around the knob of the closet door. Shawn then hooked both thumbs into his pockets and sauntered over by the bed, looking very pleased with himself. Carlton was still staring at him. “Did you just cuff me to the closet?” Carlton asked him, his voice deceptively mild. 

“Don't ask questions of the rootin'est, tootin'est, six-gun-shootin'est and cowboy bootin'est sheriff west of the living room,” Shawn said. 

“Let me out, Shawn.”

“Maybe if you're good. Or really, really bad.” Shawn turned to Juliet. “Well there, purty lady,” he drawled. “Now that I've cleared this here town of the scalawag shenanigans, maybe you and me could get up to some.” Juliet grinned at him, holding her hands behind her back. When he took another step forward, she brought out her secret, hidden weapon—a finger gun. Shawn gasped and put his hands up. “My land, they're everywhere!” he said.

“I'll just take this,” she said, and slipped Carlton's badge from Shawn's collar. She glanced at Carlton, who was watching her, and she saw his eyes soften. She dropped the finger gun, and the game, rubbing her thumb lightly over its surface before holding it out to him. “This is yours,” she said.

Carlton smiled. “It looks good on you,” he said softly. “It always has, and it always will.”

“Thank you,” she said, meaning it. Carlton reached into his pocket, came up with a set of handcuff keys (which surprised no one, just as no one had been surprised that Shawn had randomly had a set in his own pocket), and unlocked himself.

“Aw, I was going to do stuff to you over there,” Shawn complained.

Carlton unlocked the other cuff and glared over at him menacingly. “What was it you called me, shitheels?”

Shawn gave him the brilliant grin again and clasped his hands behind his back. “Po-Po fo' sho'.”

Two minutes later, Juliet was naked on her back on the bed, Shawn's mouth greedily sucking and licking between her legs while Carlton ordered him to keep his ass in the air and his legs spread. Juliet sighed in pleasure as Shawn's tongue circled around her clit and then rubbed and flicked over it, and he made a hungry sound into her pussy that she felt vibrating her whole body once Carlton gave him a hard smack on the ass with the flat of his palm.

Juliet saw what was laying on the mattress next to Shawn's leg and she put one hand in his hair, holding him tightly in place, because in the next few seconds he was going to get very wiggly, jumping slightly every time the paddle struck him. “Oh, sweetheart, you poked the bear,” she said, her voice breathy as his mouth worked her more frantically already, his thighs already tensing. “He wasn't kidding.”

Carlton laid the leather paddle across Shawn's ass so that he could feel it and know what was coming, and as soon as he did, she felt more than heard him moan again. At the first hard smack, Shawn started and shoved his tongue into her at the same time, and she gripped his hair harder, grinding her clit into his lips. By the time Carlton decided he'd sufficiently punished Shawn for mouthing off, Juliet had come twice, her chest heaving for more air, and she could feel that the sheet was soaked beneath her. Carlton stopped and tossed the paddle on the floor and Shawn backed out of her pussy long enough to suck in a huge breath of air for himself, his legs shaking and his face bright pink. Juliet was trembling slightly, having come so hard from Shawn's enthusiasm that she felt like she might shake into a puddle herself if he went at her again, so she backed up and collapsed onto the cooler part of the sheet, still breathing hard. She looked at Carlton and saw that he had the lube again, and he glanced at her long enough to show off his own satisfied smirk as he smoothed a bit over his cock and then leaned forward. 

Shawn was still gasping when Carlton pushed his face into the wet spot on the mattress, directing him to stay put while he urged his ass up again and then shoved his dick inside him with one huge, hard thrust. Shawn moaned into the bed, his voice muffled but high-pitched and wanting as Carlton began slamming him so hard that he was soon flat on his stomach, his hands clenched into the sheet. He fucked Shawn hard for several minutes, putting down one hand to hold himself up and the other on one of Shawn's shoulders to hold him down. Suddenly he pulled out, flipped Shawn over onto his back, and fisted his own cock four or five times before he came all over him. Shawn bit his lip and reached for his dick, but Carlton slapped his hand away and Shawn whimpered, his dick incredibly hard and trembling.

Carlton leaned over him again, still panting slightly, and gripped his forearms, pinning him to the bed hard. “What'd you call me?” he asked again.

“Lassy...”

“What are you never going to call me again, Shawn?”

“Ungh... not—not Piggy Po-Po Policeman?”

Carlton let go of one of his arms long enough to grip his jaw and chin in one hand. “Apologize.”

“Sorry sorry so sorry, mmm, Lassy please?” Shawn begged, trying to thrust his hips up so that his dick touched Carlton's belly.

Carlton ignored that, holding him down again. “And what _do_ you call me?”

“Sassy Lassy Carlytown King of the Cop Bop.”

Carlton pinched one of his nipples, causing him to jerk slightly and close his eyes for a second, and then he clamped his hand over Shawn's arm again. “Wrong answer.”

Shawn moaned again, and then he gave up, breathing, “Officer.”

Carlton smiled a little, satisfied with his somewhat-easy win. “That's right. Please what?”

“Detective Lassy I love you please make me come.”

Carlton made another pleased sound and leaned down to kiss him. “Good boy,” he said. “But no.”

Shawn groaned loudly as Carlton backed up off him, but then he cut it off when he saw the other man go back to the box and shift the contents around, clearly looking for something else. Shawn looked at Juliet, who had finally fully caught her breath; she gave him a smile but wasn't about to help him—he'd earned this punishment fair and square, had bought and paid for it. Carlton came back with the dildo she most often used in her strap-on harness; he slicked a bit more lube over it, then lifted one of Shawn's legs and pushed almost all of it into him. He started working it back and forth with short, hard thrusts, and in less than a minute Shawn was writhing around, occasionally trying to reach down to his dick, each time getting his hand slapped away hard. He curled his hands against his chest and then rubbed his nipples, throwing his head from side to side and mumbling various pleadings. Then his eyes rolled back and he let out a loud, long cry that left his voice trembling when Carlton leaned down and sucked his dick all the way to its base, while still fucking him with the dildo.

“Ohmyguh, god, ffffffuck, Lassy please, please, _please_ don't stop,” he chanted. Carlton did let him go, moving up again enough to raise an eyebrow at him, and Shawn gave him his best begging look. “Please Lassy, please, I'm sorry, please let me come, _please_ suck my dick.”

Carlton gave him another smirk. “One or the other.”

Shawn laid his head back, closing his eyes as he panted, his wet dick still twitching at the ceiling while the dildo still plunged inside him, pulled back halfway, and fucked into him again and again. “I wanna come,” he almost whined.

“Then do it,” Carlton said, feigning nonchalance, but his eyes gleamed again when Shawn wrapped his fingers around his dick and then palmed the head, and he didn't knock his hand away this time—instead he kicked up the level of fucking him with the dildo, almost jabbing it into him now, hard and fast and nearly all the way in at each thrust, his other hand gripping Shawn's calf tightly as he held it up. 

It didn't take Shawn long at all before he was coming all over his hand and his stomach, but even as his dick finished dripping and he let it go, Carlton continued to fuck him hard, watching his face intently until Shawn's gasps and moans became whimpers again. When he finally pulled the toy out of him and tossed it on the floor, Shawn laid back on the bed, almost completely boneless. Carlton crawled up next to him and laid an arm over his stomach, though he didn't pull him close—instead he looked at Juliet and held his hand out. She smiled and also slid next to Shawn, and although they were all naked and more than slightly sticky, they held onto one another for several minutes.

Juliet leaned up enough to kiss Shawn on the cheek; his eyes were closed, but he smiled. “Shower time,” she said. “Anyone coming with?”

“Me,” Shawn said at once, trying to sit up.

Carlton put a hand on his shoulder and pushed him back down. “Not you. You wait.”

“But I'm all gooey!” He seemed to realize that this was also part of his punishment, and he stuck his bottom lip out as Carlton stood up after Juliet. “I said I was sorry!”

“And I might even believe you after you've had a few minutes to become jellied.” Carlton walked into the bathroom and Juliet heard the taps in the bathtub turning as he started he water.

Juliet chuckled at Shawn's continued pout. “I warned you,” she said. “I'm a little surprised he even let you come after you called him that. _Twice_.”

“My ass is going to sting for like an entire day,” he complained, wiggling on the bed.

Carlton appeared back in the doorway of the bathroom. “Are you coming, darling?” he asked her, completely ignoring Shawn.

“Definitely,” she said. She leaned down to kiss Shawn, and then she and followed Carlton into the shower.

When they were under the perfectly hot spray and she was in his arms, he kissed her and told her that he was truly sorry for what she'd had to give up in order for them to feel safe together. She looked into his eyes and saw how much he meant it, how much he loved her, and in knowing how absolutely happy they all were together, she kissed him back and said, truthfully, that everything was all right.


	15. Moving Forward

A few weeks later, Juliet reflected that Sunday nights were, by and large, her new favorite part of the week. Since her transfer she hadn't worked a single weekend, day or night. Shawn still had the luxury of choosing his hours, whenever it was that he felt like working (as long as he wasn't in on a case with the PD), and since Juliet's workdays had stabilized into a steady nine-to-five, and Carlton was making more effort to delegate smaller cases to Detectives Antillo (with whose success and aptitude for the job he was fairly impressed) and Yoshida, giving him more time to spend at night and on weekends with Shawn and herself, they had settled into a pleasant routine of dinner almost every night and lounging together—mostly in bed—Saturday mornings and Sunday nights.

She came into the bedroom with a cup of tea and a book just as the other two were getting settled; Shawn was flipping channels on the TV, cross-legged in the exact middle of the bed with Siddy curled on his lap, and Carlton was paging through what looked like a gun catalogue on his usual side. She set her cup on the side table, reached to give Siddy a long stroke from head to tail, rested her back against the headboard, and looked closer at Carlton's magazine. Yep, it was a side-by-side comparison of two new models of semi-automatic pistol coming out on the market next year. By the tilt of his neck, she could tell he was interested in them both.

“Good bedtime story?” she asked, taking note of the model numbers for possible future gifts.

Carlton glanced over at her and then grinned, holding the magazine out. “Very. Look at this.” He held up the picture so that she could see it better, and pointed to several noted features that were listed.

“Gun freaks,” Shawn muttered, his eyes still glued to the TV.

“No one's a freak,” Juliet said, studying the two pictures.

“Well that's just not true. Have you ever seen Jan-Michael Vincent sober?”

She looked up, frowning. “No?”

“Hmm, neither have I. Or the rest of the world, apparently.”

“Shawn, if you'd just enter the shooting competition with me—” Carlton began. Juliet smirked as she looked back down at the magazine; ever since he'd gotten Shawn to go along with him to the firing range a couple of months ago, to prove that the one time he'd seen him shoot hadn't been a fluke (he claimed—Juliet had the feeling he knew damn well it wasn't a fluke and that he'd just wanted to see Shawn with a gun in his hands and destroying all of his targets), he'd been badgering him off and on to put his abilities to use.

“Nuh uh, you're not dragging _me_ into your freaky firearm fetish,” he said. “Besides, then my dad would want to know why I suddenly started caring about guns.”

“It's not a fetish,” Carlton huffed.

“Riiiight, so that time when you came to the Psych office and picked up my squirt gun and then _looked_ at me, that totally meant nothing. That is not the sort of load in my mouth that gets me firing, you know.”

Juliet hiked an eyebrow at Carlton, whose ears had gone red. “I picked it up and looked at you because I wanted to know why you filled it with _pudding_ ,” he said. “I wasn't going to suggest—”

“Gus came to the office in a tie that looked like a gnome threw up on it, why would I _not_ fill it with pudding?” Shawn turned around and gave Carlton a sidelong look. “What if I said I would?”

Carlton blinked, obviously flustered, and not all in a bad way. “Would what?”

“Suck your _gun_.”

“I wouldn't want you to do that, it would be far too dangerous and unsanitary—”

“A fake one,” Shawn said, not needing to articulate the 'duh' addition. 

“That squirt gun is _orange_ , I'm pretty sure that would destroy any sense of realism even as a fantasy scenario—”

“So get one that looks real but isn't. Or don't, damn, I just thought I'd offer. But if you're _not_ into it, don't make me twist your arm.”

“I...” Carlton's face was now bright pink, and he shifted on the bed. “It's not on your 'no' list,” he muttered.

“Nope, it's not.” Shawn flopped backwards, his head landing between Carlton's and Juliet's thighs. “Lassy has a gun kink,” he reported.

She was still checking the differences and the features of the new model prototypes. “Is that supposed to be news?”

Shawn put on a Movie Tone Newsreel voice. “Late-breaking news from the future: the strong arm of the law takes hold of a young j.d. with great hair, quick lips, and a flirt with disaster. Lead Inspector Dick Stickemup says, 'So you want be a smart ass, punk? Let's see if your mouth is just as wise'. The rebel without laws says something about god while on his knees, but you better believe he ain't praying.”

Juliet snorted and handed the gun catalogue back to Carlton, who looked like he was both embarrassed and intrigued. She reached for her book and was just finding her place when a commercial for some sort of fundraiser came on, one that was going to be taking place on the boardwalk next month and included game booths and various activities 'for the kiddies'. 

Shawn shot back up into a sitting position. “July seventeenth!” He glanced around quickly. “Where's my phone, I need to mark my calendar. I'm getting a funnel cake and some cotton candy and I'm going to play skee-ball and be a tiger.”

Carlton had been perusing his magazine and hadn't heard the commercial, and he looked mystified for a moment before remembering that it was Shawn. “Why a tiger?”

“Because I'm _grrrrrreat_.” 

“The seventeenth?” Juliet looked up, smiling a little. “I'm sure you remember what else happens on that day, Shawn?”

He glanced back at her and tilted his head, and then he grinned. “Of course I do. And before that there's—what are we calling it, the nineteenth? Since that all went down that day, Saturday?”

She nodded. “That's what I've been calling it.”

“Calling what?” Carlton asked, looking honestly baffled when both Juliet and Shawn gave him exasperated looks.

“Lassy, don't be a substandard amount of cowbell,” Shawn said. “And don't be a standard _man_. We don't like standard.”

Carlton looked at Juliet and raised his eyebrows. “You really don't know what we're talking about?” she asked. He shrugged, and she sighed. “What happened exactly one year ago on June nineteenth?” she prompted.

He frowned. “That was the day we took down the Nolan brothers.” He glanced between them again, as they were both staring, and then his face changed. “Oh, it's—anniversary?”

“Wow,” Shawn said, looking back at Juliet again and scoffing, “ _Men_. That's it, either I get a box of chocolates or someone's sleeping on the couch.”

Carlton rolled his eyes. “I'll bring you a Kit-Kat tomorrow.”

“Oooh, deal.”

Carlton looked at Juliet again. “What's the other one, then? If our one-year is coming up in two weeks.”

“That would be me and Shawn for three years.”

“ _Three years_ ,” Shawn reiterated, laying back down again. “Ladyface, you spoil me. With your even number of fingers, and your still-present appendix, and your panties that say Spencer's Gifts. Mmm.”

She snorted laughter at that—she'd gotten them at a mall shortly after they'd moved in together, and he was still absolutely tickled when he'd get her pants off and occasionally find them. “Thank you, sweetheart,” she said. “I love how you absolutely never eat deodorant, that you once wore a Santa Claus suit in the middle of summer so that little kids would still believe in him, and the time you spent an entire day making me avocado ice cream.” She glanced at Carlton, who was looking at them both like they were crazy, and she grinned. “It really was delicious.”

“Okay,” he said. There was a pause, and when he spoke next, his voice was pitched deliberately casual. “Do you two still want to celebrate your three-year anniversary?”

Juliet glanced at Shawn fractionally, out of the corner of her eye, and saw him doing the same. “No,” she said softly. “There are three of us now, not just two. Shawn and I may have been together first, but we're not separate from _us_. I just brought it up because it was a milestone for both of us—being with anyone this long.” Carlton nodded, looking slightly relieved now, and she smiled. “But there's our one whole year coming up. We can—and should—celebrate that.”

“Ooh, definitely,” Shawn said. “What should we do?”

“What did you do last year?” Carlton asked.

“You,” Juliet said.

“We went Lassy-hunting,” Shawn said at the same time.

Carlton snorted. “I guess you did.” He shook his head. “A whole year with you two ninnies. Look where it's got me... I guess I'm happier than I ever have been.”

“Being back in California has got to help too,” Shawn said. “Click your heels and say 'there's no place like home'.”

“There's really not,” Carlton said. “I'm sorry I ever left. Although... who knows, none of this might have happened. In which case I wouldn't change it.” He made a face. “Even though I had to spend a year with the worst police department I've ever been ashamed to know. Coming back here was like breathing again. It's the same when I have to spend the night at 'my' apartment and miss being with you two until I can come back here.”

“Have those people that live on the floor above you stopped screaming at each other in the middle of the night?” Juliet asked. He'd worked very late last Thursday and so had told them he'd gone there to sleep instead of coming here and waking Juliet and Shawn as he crawled into bed with them. Both of them would have found it difficult to get back to sleep and thus would have had moderately crappy days at work—she would have, at least. Shawn could sometimes operate on little to no sleep for the best part of a week and seem perfectly okay until he dropped, but once she was up, she knew she could get cranky. 

“No. I went up there to tell them to shut it, and one of them started to get aggressive until he saw the badge on my belt and realized who he was dealing with.” He sighed. “I suppose my lease is up in August. I could look for a studio, since almost everything I own is either already here or in my storage unit.”

Shawn sat up suddenly. “Oh my god,” he said, and Juliet glanced at the TV, but it was just a re-run of some sitcom. He flipped onto his stomach, propped his chin up in his hands, and grinned. “So, you guys know how I'm awesome and I have the best ideas in the universe,” he said. 

“Uh oh,” Juliet and Carlton said together.

“No, no, this is a jolly good show, guv'nor,” he assured them. “Who's a Styx fan?”

“The river or the band?” Carlton asked.

“The band, Renegade. Here's what I'm thinking: Babe, I've got too much time on my hands. I'm a blue-collar man. Domo Arigato, you're foolin' yourself and you don't believe it.” He paused for effect, and then grinned hugely. “Lorelei, let's live together?”

Carlton blinked. “You think I should move in with you?”

“Sure,” Shawn said, still grinning. “It's perfect.”

Carlton then looked at Juliet, thunderstruck. Her face was surprised too, she knew, but it was more the fact that Shawn had thought of it first and brought it up than shock at the idea; his apartment was basically just a front anyway. “You practically already live with us,” she said.

He blinked again. “Well—yes, but... I mean, what about people saying things? I haven't heard diddly squat about any of us since you transferred out, but if me spending time with you two already got one person suspicious, wouldn't me living with you—”

“Nah,” Shawn said. “That buttmunch's presumption was that it was _our_ place, and you were here all the time. If you _lived_ in the same apartment, you'd kind of have a reason for being here.”

“This is a one bedroom apartment.”

Shawn looked at Juliet. “ _Our_ lease renewal is up soon, isn't it?”

She nodded. “In September.”

“Hmm, convenient,” Shawn said. “We need a little more space in our lives, is that it? Something in a two bedroom?” He glanced at Carlton. “We can stick a bed in there and say it's yours if anyone comes over, but otherwise we'll just use that room for, like, an office or something.”

“And neither of you thinks anyone will find it weird that I've moved in with you.”

“Well, yeah, some probably will. But I mean, it's not like no one in the world has roommates. And you'd have your 'own room'.”

“Still, that shows me as quite a lot more familiar with the two of you than we've been trying to let on.”

“But Jules isn't on the force anymore, and it's not like we have tons of buddies parading all over the place. Pretty much the only person I ever have over is Gus, who knows anyway. You—what's the nice way to put you have no friends? 'Keep to yourself'?”

“Shawn!” Juliet scolded.

“I just don't care to know people or spend time with them outside of work,” Carlton said, and shrugged. “With the exception of you two, of course. I've always kept my own company.”

“And Jules likes to go out to meet friends and have fun, not stay in at home,” Shawn said. “Neither of your families are here, and the last time my dad even came _here_ was, what, when we moved in? He had to pretend to inspect the wiring or something to make sure I wasn't moving her into a slum hole. _And_ , if we're all moving to a new place, then no one should be able to put it together that your cars and my bike are in the same lot. And then, so what. Roommates. You two don't work together, so it's cool if you're friends, and hey, I'm just _so_ charming that I finally won you over.” Shawn rolled over a little so that he could rest his head on Carlton's leg.

“Maybe,” Carlton said slowly. “What do you think, Juliet?”

“It sounds good,” she said. “Except—why did we all suddenly move in together, again?”

“Easy,” Shawn said. “Leases. And Lassy's apartment sucks. We could say that we just felt like moving, that we wanted more room, or something. Maybe I wanted the second room to fill it with arcade games. Ooh!”

“No,” Carlton and Juliet said together.

“Just one?”

Juliet gave him a look. “You needed a whole room for one game?” 

“I'm going to put in a cotton candy machine and a helium tank for my own personal carnival.”

“No,” she said again.

“And you're not actually getting this proposed room,” Carlton said. “If this is going to happen, I may do as you suggested and use a second room as an office. I can put up a few boards for working on cases while I'm home.”

“Then it'll be _really_ obvious that it's your room.” Shawn made a face and laid his head back down. “So that part's easy, me and Jules moved because this place was cramping our style, and Lassy moved out of that crappy apartment because of how fast and loose they were playing the 'convenient access to downtown' slogan.”

“But why did I move in _with_ you?” Carlton pressed. 

“Because of our good looks and so many rich talents?”

“Well, yes, but what's the story as to why I moved in with you?”

Shawn grinned. “I dunno. Your lease was over and you wanted out, but didn't have a new place set up yet, and we had an extra room? You could say you're still looking if anyone gets nosy. Or not—it's still no one's business, even more so if you two aren't working together and there's no chance of people thinking you're a thing and losing your jobs.”

“Anyone that does find out may have more cause to think Juliet and I are having an affair,” Carlton pointed out. 

Shawn shrugged. “So? Just keep saying 'roommates'. Or that you're still looking for a place, but you work so much that it's hard to go apartment-hunting. Change the subject, deflect, go on the offensive. Maybe if we're just quiet about it, it doesn't need to be a thing. I really don't care if people think you two are doing it behind my back, as long as you keep doing it in front of my... front.”

“That sounds like an arrangement,” Carlton said. 

Juliet smiled at him. “So we're going to all live together, then?” That was actually a really nice way to celebrate their being together for a year—they were still going smoothly other than a few very minor bumps, they still loved each other, and now their relationship was continuing to get stronger, more serious. 

“I'd be lying if I said I didn't want to be able to spend every minute I could with you.” He smiled. “You two are my home.”

“Sweet.” Shawn rolled back onto his stomach and popped his head up in his hands again. “Home movie time—go ahead, do it in front of my front. And... action!”

“You better not have a camera,” Carlton warned him. 

Shawn tapped his forehead. “Right here, buddy-roo.” 

Juliet set her book on the side table next to her cup, and when she turned back around, Carlton pulled her into his arms and kissed her, one hand on her hip and slowly migrating to the side of her breast. Shawn watched the show for approximately four minutes before deciding he would much rather be a participant than a spectator.


	16. Burton Guster and the Traveling Curse

**JULY 2010**  


  


“I still think you should've just let me take it apart,” Henry complained.

“Almost there!” Shawn insisted. His dad heaved his side of the entertainment center up another stair riser and Shawn yanked on it, stepping back quickly to avoid amputating one of his toes when it hit the landing. “It's up!”

Henry gave the down side another shove so that he could come the rest of the way up, and let out a huge sigh while Shawn leaned over and gasped for air. “C'mon kid,” he said after a second. “This is the last of the furniture, right? Let's get this one inside, then we can go back for some of the boxes.”

“That's cool, we can get the rest.” Shawn took up his side of the shelf and started walking backwards, trying not to drag it on the hall floor. “I just wanted some help with the heavy stuff while Jules and Gus are at work.” And Lassy, who was really strong, but who was also really close to pinning the murder of a woman on her d-bag ex-husband. “We still have two weeks to make sure everything's out of our old place.” He fished in his pocket for the new key to their new place, grinning to himself as he unlocked the door—Jules had found them an amazing new apartment, and he was excited to show off his favorite part once they got all of the furniture that they'd crammed into the living room into various other rooms.

“You shouldn't put off until tomorrow—”

“But we're paying to the end of the month anyway,” Shawn said, pulling the entertainment center inside. “And Gus is going to help as soon as he's back from the butt doctor—he was very insistent he keep the appointment because the guy almost never agrees to see reps, and no one likes an impolite proctologist.” Henry rolled his eyes. “What?” Shawn demanded. “Tell me that's not true.”

His dad ignored him and looked around the place again, having barely had time to properly inspect as they'd brought up the kitchen table and chairs and the living room pieces. They'd gotten the furniture from the bedroom—bed (which was was the ginormous one Lassy had bought in Georgia and moved into Juliet and Shawn's bedroom when he'd gotten back to California), dressers, headboard, side tables, TV and stand, Juliet's grandmother's cedar chest—before lunch, and now Shawn was fairly exhausted, having decided that morning that he was going to be the one pushing his dad to go faster faster faster on the pretense of getting it all done quickly, not at _all_ because his father was one of the best snoops in the entire world. So far, nothing of Lassy's was in the apartment except for that bed, which was technically all of theirs now. Henry had made a comment on the size of it, and Shawn had said something about slumber parties and a cheerleading team and the bed-bouncing Olympic event before his dad took off his cap, whapped Shawn with it, and continued loading the trailer his truck was pulling. 

“Not bad,” Henry said now, walking into the kitchen and going over to the stove to check it out.

“There's an island,” Shawn pointed out unnecessarily. He liked kitchen islands; the floor was an ocean, and his sandwiches would be his life raft. 

“Uh huh. And a garbage disposal—you put your hand down it, don't call me.”

“How will I call you without a hand?”

“That pointy nose of yours should be able to tap out 911, you'll be fine.”

Shawn gasped in indignation, and then remembered his other favorite part. “Ooh, come in here, this is the best thing—Jules had it narrowed down to two and once I saw _this_...” Shawn turned and headed for the bigger of the two bedrooms. He went to the wall and yanked on a cord, pulling back a massive drape that covered a sliding door and a balcony. He threw his arms in the air as his dad came into the room, then held them out to the little patio area. “Cool, huh?”

Henry's eyes traced the frame and he grunted. “You need a better lock on that,” he said. “Just because it's the third floor doesn't mean certain burglars can't be intrepid. Don't leave anything out there, either.”

Shawn dropped his arms to his sides. “Not even my sense of decency?”

“I'm pretty sure that expired when you stole that car, kid.”

Shawn rolled his eyes and headed back to the living room. He looked around, not knowing where Jules wanted any of their stuff, and started to shove the sofa over by a wall in order to make more room to get everything else at least into the room it would eventually go. 

His dad had the other end in a few seconds, lifting it easily and pulling it toward a different wall. “Is the balcony the only reason you picked this place?”

Shawn thought he heard something in that question, but couldn't immediately tell what it was. “Yeah, pretty much. The other place was nice too, but she couldn't decide, so I voted for this one.”

“Did the other place also have an extra bedroom?”

Ahh, there it was. “Sure did,” Shawn said. “She says I can't put an arcade game in there, but one of these days Atari is just going to invade the space. I also still have my heart set on a cotton candy machine, despite certain protests.” He did, too. Or maybe he could settle for a funnel cake maker.

“Uh huh,” Henry said, and stuck his hands in his pockets. “This is a nice place,” he said again. “And you two will have been together for three years this month, won't you?” Shawn glanced at him, but he just looked back at him steadily. “Am I gonna get a happy announcement in the mail sometime soon?” his dad finally asked.

 _Oh_. “Dad, I... told you we're not ready, we—”

“You said that seven months ago,” Henry persisted. “She hasn't got tired of your crap yet—in fact, she seems happier than ever, and so do you. I meant it when I said before that I never thought you'd have your life running so well for you—you're steady, you're happy, you're not getting into trouble.” He looked around. “And you deliberately picked a place with two bedrooms. Not that I think you're ready to be a _father_ —”

Shawn flinched, holding both hands up. “Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa,” he chanted. “Rein it in there, buckaroo. One step at a time. We just wanted a little more space, and our lease was coming up, so the timing just worked out. That's all. I still have that—that ring you gave me,” he added, when his dad gave him a searching look. “But it's safe and happy in its little box. It doesn't want to leave the box. The box is home. It threatened to take off and find someone that wouldn't rip it from its shell when I packed it—”

“Shawn.”

He sighed. “I know what you want to hear, but I'm sorry. What we have is too good to mess it up with—something like that. Or with anything. For any reason.”

“Yeah, yeah, okay.” Henry rolled his eyes again. “I guess I'm happy that you still got something. And it's progressing, which is something too.” He picked up a kitchen chair and started taking it to the breakfast nook. “C'mon, let's get this stuff moved around so Juliet can figure out where she wants it when she gets home.”

Shawn picked up another chair, following more slowly, wondering what his dad was going to think, or say, when he found out that the second bedroom was going to (kind of) be filled with a detective fairly soon. That would likely put the kibosh on his apparent high hopes of Shawn and Juliet getting _married_. He was pretty sure his dad liked Lassy—at least, as a fellow cop, and there was that one time they'd gone fishing—but he had the strong feeling Henry would find it Strangey Weirdtown if Lassy moved in with them. Well... there was no reason anyone had to exactly _tell_ him—his father really didn't make a habit of visiting him at home (Shawn and Jules just went to his house when they had dinner or for holidays, since there was much more room and Henry was familiar in his own kitchen and living room). Eventually he'd probably figure it out or find out, but even then, even if he thought it was fucked up... who cared. Maybe Shawn could hide behind Jules while she stared him down and told him Lassiter was staying with them while he looked for another place. Ha. Let Henry try to tell _her_ he didn't approve, or whatever. _I am a thirty-one-year-old grownup_ , Shawn thought as he pictured himself hiding behind his girlfriend while she told his father to continue the search for his beeswax in another area, preferably another part of the state.

Jules wasn't in the mood to direct moving traffic when she got off work that night—she started off by simply saying she didn't feel well, upping it to a headache when Lassy asked her what was wrong. Shawn and Gus were loading boxes of DVDs into the back of the Blueberry, and when Shawn turned around, he thought he saw her looking at him meaningfully. Lassy seemed to understand something and rubbed her shoulder gently before going back inside for more boxes.

“Jules?” Shawn asked. “Do you have a tumor?”

She looked confused for a moment, and then she snorted laughter. “No, Shawn. I'm okay, I just don't feel like lifting stuff, if that's all right with you.” She leaned into the back seat of the car to check what they'd already brought out. 

“Um... okay?”

Gus grabbed Shawn's arm and tugged him back inside. “She doesn't have a headache, Shawn.” He paused as the went back into the old apartment. “Well, she might. I wonder if all of your medicines are packed up. I have some acetaminophen in the car, I should offer her some.”

“What? Then why'd she say—”

“Because she didn't want to shout out to the neighborhood that she's having her—her time of the month,” Lassy said, giving Shawn a disapproving look.

“That's why she doesn't want to lift things,” Gus said. “It can cause cramping to worsen, along with making the flow—”

Shawn made a disgusted noise, and Lassy made a disgusted face. “Can we be done talking about this?” Shawn asked. “I'll lift things. And I'll buy her some ice cream.” He bent down for a box of books, then stood with it in his arms. “And I'm going to buy me ice cream.”

“You need to lift with your legs,” Gus said, picking up another box.

“Don't tell me how to live my life,” Shawn told him.

“I'm just saying Shawn, you're putting too much strain on your back, it's going to—”

“You're losing more and more of _your_ ice cream with every word, buddy.”

“You're damn right I'm getting ice cream after this,” Gus said. He glared at several more boxes of Lassy's books that had built up around the place. “Lassy, why didn't you just get a dolly?”

Shawn froze in the doorway, and then turned around suspiciously. “Dude, that's _one_ more weird collection than I'm okay with.”

“It's a hand cart, Shawn!”

“Riiiiight, and your Glo Worm was just a night-light.” He walked out snickering as Gus glared at him.

Two hours later they had the little moving trailer Lassy had rented filled with almost all of their things from the apartment. Tomorrow they were going to try to get the rest, along with some other things from Lassy's storage unit. Shawn had recharged with a 24-ounce Red Bull after his dad had gone back home and was on the verge of suggesting they power through and make the second trip back after unloading at the new place, but Jules did look drawn, even from just sitting around outside while the guys loaded things, and they _would_ be spending the night in their new apartment looking for stuff and rearranging things, so he instead suggested they power through taking everything up two flights of stairs as fast as they could, and then _ice cream_. 

“I _hate_ moving,” Lassiter complained in the elevator, the floor around himself and Shawn stacked with boxes. “This is now the third time I've moved in the last four years.”

“At least this one isn't cross-country,” Shawn pointed out helpfully. Lassy grunted grumpily. “You want some love in the elevator?” Shawn offered.

Lassy snorted at that. “Thanks, but no. I want to get done and relax. Gus already took up the box with the bed sheets, didn't he?”

“I think so,” Shawn said as the elevator dinged and the doors opened. “Um,” he said to the older couple staring at them in surprise. “Sorry. It'll just be, like... one minute.” He stepped over a box and started yanking some out, shoving them down the hall, while Lassy leaned down and picked up two boxes at once. Shawn held the door for him and then tried to do the same, resulting in a wrench in his back and the near introduction of his nose to the floor.

“Here,” Lassy said, and grabbed them. Shawn wanted to give him the finger, or to rub his nipple through his shirt while licking his lips, either to make him laugh or to possibly turn him on a little, but the old couple was still staring impatiently, so he shoved out another two boxes, one after the other, and then quick-stepped into the hall.

“Sorry,” he said again. They ignored him and got into the car, immediately pressing the ground floor button. “Wow, rude,” Shawn said, turning around to stare at the hallway, which was strewn with his possessions. “I think we actually did get it cleared it under a minute, thanks to your He-Man show.”

Lassy was stacking the boxes outside of their door, and he glanced back, confused. “What?”

“I'm big and strong and I can take two boxes,” Shawn said in a mockingly-gruff voice, holding his arms out as if he had massive muscles.

“No you're not,” Lassy said calmly. “You're thin and short.” He grinned. “But you can take eight inches.”

Gus had just been coming outside to help with more boxes when he flinched, made a horrified face, and held up both of his hands. “Oh my god!” he cried. “Not here too! The curse traveled!”

Shawn had just been about to retort that he was _not_ short—he was taller than Jules!—but then he fell against the wall and slid to the floor, his legs splayed out in front of him, laughing so hard he could hardly breathe.

.

Juliet was sitting on the sofa, which was crooked, and against the wrong wall, but the Tylenol Gus had offered her as they drove over was starting to take effect, and she felt a little better. She looked up when she heard Gus being traumatized by something, and although she hadn't heard enough to know what it was, she heard Shawn dying of laughter in the hall, so she had a pretty good idea.

She looked questioningly at Carlton when he came in, a box in his arms and his ears bright red. “What did Shawn do to Gus this time?” she asked.

“It wasn't even _him_ this time!” Gus said as he came back, also carrying a box. He set it down and darted a suspicious look at Carlton, who was conspicuously not looking at him.

Juliet raised her eyebrows in surprise at Carlton, who now looked thoroughly embarrassed. “What did _you_ do to Gus?”

“I didn't—nothing! It's not my fault he chose that exact moment to come into the hall!”

“Gus has TMI-timing,” Shawn explained from the doorway, one box in his arms and another at his feet as he nudged it in with the toe of his sneaker. “You need to pretend there's a stuffy little old lady around or he gets squeaky.”

“I do not, Shawn! There are just some things I do not care to know,” Gus insisted.

“I didn't care to know long division, but you didn't see me throwing a spaz in Mrs. Timmons' fourth grade math class.”

“Yes I did—you sat on your workbook and when she asked you where it was and you said it was under your butt, you got detention for a whole week.”

Shawn looked at Juliet. “Detention for the truth. How is that fair, I ask you?”

“It wasn't for telling the truth, it was for being a smart ass,” Carlton said. 

“Well, excuse me if my ass was so smart it was doing all of my math for me.” Shawn paused. “Maybe that's what my dad meant when he said I wasn't allowed to just pull numbers out of my ass. Numbers like... eight.”

Carlton rolled his eyes. “I apologize, Gus. It won't happen again.”

“Thank you, Lassy,” Gus said, composed again.

Shawn snickered again, but he stopped when Juliet caught his eye and slightly pushed out her lower lip. “Ice cream?” she asked.

He brightened. “Hell yes! The stuff me and Lassy just brought up was the last from the U-HAUL. What kind do you want?”

“Anything with chocolate,” she said. 

While Shawn and Gus left to retrieve treats, Carlton located the box of sheets and made up the bed enough for them to sleep on. At her request, he managed to hunt down one of the bathroom boxes that contained her bubble bath and salts, and she set them out, looking forward to a long soak the second her ice cream was gone. 

She would have been happy with something from the Dairy Queen down the street and a block over, but she wasn't surprised, either, when Shawn brought her a five-quart bucket of rocky road. She was hot and crampy and past the point of caring, so when he was his usual smart ass self and plopped the bucket into her lap and offered her a spoon, she simply pried the lid off, grasped the spoon in her hand like a shovel, and determinedly crammed her mouth with chocolate and marshmallows. Carlton, who was next to her on the sofa, stared for a second, and then he gently wiped a bit of ice cream off her lip and licked his finger. Shawn grinned and dug through a box of dishes in order to find two bowls and three more spoons, and she paused long enough for him to scoop some for himself and Gus. He sat on the floor near her legs and Gus sat in the chair, the four of them eating quietly, tiredly, for several minutes. 

Carlton had a few bites from the very edge of the container, and then he frowned. “What's wrong?” Juliet asked him.

“This isn't very sanitary.”

Shawn looked back with an amused grin, opened his mouth, and then he closed it and glanced at Gus. “Inappropriate thing,” he said, “that means your mouth germs are not an issue. Besides, wouldn't they just... freeze?”

“Are you finished?” Carlton asked Juliet, holding the ice cream tub's lid.

She wasn't, but she handed it to him. As he got up to put it in the freezer, she leaned forward and snatched Shawn's bowl of his hands. “Hey!” he protested. “Not fair!”

“I could make you bleed from your pants-area,” she suggested.

He looked wounded. “Um, thanks, but I'm good? You can have it, I guess.” He made a face. “God, that must suck.”

“It does,” she said.

“Isn't there a birth control that makes that, like, not happen?”

“Yes, and I'm considering it,” she said. 

“Oooh, you totally should—we could have tons more sex without The Bloodening.” He looked at Gus, who was giving him a skeptical look. “That's totally a horror movie title,” he said. “Who's in it, do you think? I hope it's Tawny Kitaen. She was great in _Witchboard_. And in those Whitesnake videos. And in my dreams.”

“That's messed up, Shawn.”

“I said it was a horror movie _title_ , not a movie _premise_.”

“You're still an idiot,” Carlton informed him as he sat back down.

Juliet finished licking her spoon and then set the empty bowl on the floor, sighing contentedly. “That hit the spot,” she said. “I don't even want dinner. That was my dinner.”

“You're a grown-up and you can totally have ice cream for dinner,” Shawn assured her. “Especially when you feel icky.”

“Do you feel any better?” Gus asked.

“Yes, thank you. And thank you for all of your help today. I'm going to go relax in the tub while these two unpack some essentials.” She sighed again and leaned back against Carlton, who slid an arm around her. “In just a few minutes.”

“Want me to get your bath started?” Shawn offered.

She smiled at him. “That would be great, thanks.”

“I'm going to head home and hit the sack,” Gus said, standing up. “Thanks for the ice cream. I'll see you tomorrow, Shawn.”

Shawn paused on the way to the bathroom. “You thought I was really going to clean the office? Oh, buddy.”

“You're damn right you are,” Gus said, unperturbed. “I don't need much in my life to be happy, but one serving of rocky road is not enough to cover moving all of your movies and fourteen boxes of books up here.”

“Those weren't _my_ books,” Shawn protested.

Carlton, who owned nine of the boxes (four of the police work vein, four of the military, one miscellaneous), shot him a look. “Like you'd ever read something worthwhile.”

“Shawn, if you told him you were going to clean up the office—” Juliet began.

“You can take the rest of the ice cream with you,” Shawn offered.

Gus was unmoved. “I don't even like marshmallows that much.”

“Liar!”

He reconsidered that. “Okay, I do. But you're still cleaning Psych. Bring paper towels and Windex; I'll pick you up at eight.”

Shawn groaned and went into the bathroom to start filling the big tub. “Thanks again for your help,” Juliet told Gus, and he nodded and left. She sighed again and closed her eyes, feeling Carlton thread his fingers between hers and squeeze her hand gently. She smiled as he kissed her forehead, and she opened her eyes to look up at him. “Our home,” she said softly.

He was smiling too. “I love you.”

Shawn came back into the living room with a semi-traumatized Siddy in his arms. “Look who I found cowering under the sink,” he said. “Poor kitty. I bet all the noise from us banging back and forth scared him too. It's okay, buddy, we're all here. Look, there's Jules.” He tilted the cat toward Juliet, who held out her hand for him to smell. “And there's Lassy.” There was a pause, Carlton just looking at Shawn until he harrumphed irritably. “This is apparently the only pussy we're getting tonight, Lassy, so you should pet it.”

“Yeah, no.”

Shawn sighed. “Your bath is just about ready,” he told Juliet. “I put some of the pink salt stuff in the water.” He paused. “Why's it called salt? It's not, like, salty?”

She had just sat up more in preparation to stand, but then she had to stop and study him. “Shawn, did you—please tell me you didn't _taste_ my bath salts.”

His eyes darted from side to side. “Uh... I... no?”

She looked at Carlton, who was also looking at Shawn incredulously. “Now you're stuck here with him,” she said. “I hope you're happy.”

“I am,” he said slowly. “I think.”

“Oh, don't pretend like the two of you don't love me,” Shawn said, dropping Siddy on the floor. The cat froze for a second before darting underneath the sofa. Juliet stood up and Shawn put both arms around her, hugging her for a long moment. He then took her hands and kissed the back of each one, and she gave him a smile.

“I do love you,” she said. “But grown-ups don't eat the bath products, okay?”

“But some of them smell really good.”

“That's to make us smell good,” she said. “Then you taste the people.”

“Ooh, good plan.” He used one of her hands to gesture to the bathroom. “Go on and soak—we'll get some more stuff unpacked. You know... in a few minutes.” He looked over her shoulder at Carlton. “What do _you_ taste like?” he asked him.

Carlton shrugged. “Exhaustion-flavored ice cream?”

Shawn snorted. “Okay, that I'm going to need to sample.”

Juliet smiled again and headed toward the bathroom as Shawn got into Carlton's lap and began kissing him. She was sort of sorry she wouldn't be able to be in on first-night nookie in their new place, but there would be lots of nights, and lots of sex, in the days to come. One year, and look how far they'd come. She didn't know exactly what the future might hold, but as she sunk down into the hot water, feeling her aching body finally start to relax, she smiled, thinking that she couldn't wait to get there.


	17. D/s Games On Sale 3-For-1 (pt 1)

  
**AUGUST 2010**

_Okay, I'm boring you, I'm warning you tonight_  
 _Is not the night for fights, lies—white or otherwise_  
 _My mood isn't better yet, sober and humorless_  
 _If you can't handle this, roll off the mattress_  
—EVE 6, “[Bring The Night On](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hR0sw42boZk)”

  
Juliet, Shawn, and Lassiter loved their new apartment.

They loved it for a multitude of reasons, and each of them had their own favorite parts: Shawn thought the balcony off the bigger bedroom and the kitchen island made the place fit for royalty or something, Juliet loved the spacious bathroom with the huge whirlpool tub and the built-in appliances in the kitchen, and Lassiter quite enjoyed how much more room there was overall, including the second bedroom that, although he didn't use it for sleeping, was his own space for working on cases. He'd always been the type to like open rooms with high ceilings, tastefully decorated, not strewn about with hokey knickknacks and always kept pin-neat.

So, of course, he had to go and move into a place where Shawn Spencer also lived. 

It wasn't that bad, not compared to how it could have been if Juliet didn't also share the home, but it was enough to keep him at a constant low- to mid-level of annoyance: five pairs of shoes in a heap by the front door, where they were toed off at the end of each day, a constant run of dirty dishes in the sink and on all horizontal surfaces in the kitchen (although there was a brand new dishwasher built right into the counter), a pile of dirty clothes right _next_ to the hamper, and so many takeout containers and half-eaten leftovers in the refrigerator that he was becoming more and more apprehensive of opening it as each day came and went. 

These things had, of course, all been present in the old apartment, but now that Lassiter was officially living with them, they nagged at him more. Shawn would take care of these messes if pointed out to him, but rarely at once, especially if he was playing XBOX at three o'clock in the morning because that was the only time his online gaming rival was awake, or if he had anything from a mountain of paper to maps to half a porcupine skeleton and the schematics of a speed ironing machine from the 1970s covering the living room floor because he was working on a case. Lassiter had tried hard to refrain from losing his temper over these things—they'd just started living together and he didn't want them thinking he was going to be impossible to co-habitate with them. After all, Juliet had lived with Shawn for over two years and hadn't yet killed him and stuffed his body—and his dirty shoes—into a closet.

“How did you _deal_ with this?” Lassiter asked her, frustrated to the point of almost shouting, after he opened the freezer and was nearly hit in the face by three different Popsicle boxes, an open pack of Pop-Tarts, half a Frosty, and a can of pineapple juice. Thankfully, the mess of frozen pizzas and the box of what Shawn cheerfully called Snot Pockets stayed put.

Juliet looked up from her place at the island, where she'd been eating a container of yogurt and reading the paper. “Incentive,” she said simply, and then showed him what she meant by having him click a cellphone pic of the tip of her nipple peeking out from the top of one of her bra cups, then sending the photo to Shawn with the promise of more should they come home to a totally cleaned-out refrigerator/freezer that night. Sure enough, when Lassiter and Juliet arrived home after work, Shawn was seated on the counter, his heels kicking the cabinets lightly in anticipation, giving them a dazzling 'Aren't I Good?' smile and nearly vibrating like an expectant puppy. Juliet went right for him and slipped her hands underneath his shirt, pulling him close so that her breasts pressed against his chest, and Lassiter went to the freezer, opening it with extra caution, only to find all of the half-empty boxes gone and the loose single-wrapped frozen treats together in a clear container on the shelf, the pizzas stacked together, the juices categorized by flavor in the door, and the ice trays filled.

“So that's it?” Lassiter asked, annoyed that this was the answer, and annoyed that he hadn't thought of it when it really was the simplest thing he could have done. Bribery was for children and the emotionally immature, after all. “The next time I want you to pick up your clothes I just send you a dick pic and you'll get on it?”

Shawn grinned again. “Which 'it' am I getting on? Because both is good.”

“Timing is also important,” Juliet told Lassiter later. “If Shawn hadn't figured out that the missing teenager was actually hiding in the attic at her boyfriend's house yesterday, he would have stuck with that instead and just come home with his sad puppy face, hoping for boobs. You learn to pick your battles, and to know your audience.”

So, Lassiter had learned to pick his battles (the heap of shoes wasn't that much of a problem as long as they weren't in the doorway, but as long as he remembered to tell or show Shawn that he loved him at least every other day, Shawn's face lit up and he was more than happy to make a point of showing back by picking up after himself a little more) and he had learned to know his audience, and to choose his timing. Not just for Shawn, either.

Another great thing about their new place was the empty apartment below them and the layout of the apartment above (which Lassiter had checked) had both bedrooms on the opposite side of their own. The glass doors of the balcony were thick and had new seals around them, making them quite effective in noise-blocking, as the three of them woke every morning to something other than the sound of traffic. Lassiter had also tested this by instructing Shawn to make Juliet scream when she came and then standing outside on the balcony with the doors closed and the front of his pants tight—he could see them perfectly with the curtain slid open, but he couldn't hear anything. Excellent.

The place was very solidly built, the walls were thick, and although the ceilings were high, there was a heavy carpet in almost every room which helped muffle sound. For instance, the length of distance between the bathroom, where Juliet would want to relax into a hot bath with a book or magazine and not a bored Shawn hovering over her shoulder, and the bedroom, where Lassiter firmly gave Shawn something to concentrate on, kept any moanings and groanings and various other sounds mostly contained within that side of the apartment. It was also easy for Juliet to sleep in on the weekends, with the noise from Shawn trying to teach Lassiter how to play some of his video games confined to the living room, along with both Shawn's gleeful laughter and taunts and Lassiter's swearing. Lassiter could also pace around his office room and growl to himself about a suspicious witness or a missing key piece of evidence while Juliet and Shawn watched one of their TV shows without being supremely annoyed by a laugh track, and they could giggle at stupid jokes without having to follow them up with indignant looks at his impatient ones. 

And when they were all together, of course, quiet or loud, the amount of noise they made with each other was just for them. 

It was a great place, and they all loved it, even more so for how perfectly they fit into it and with each other.

.

“As soon as you say it,” Carlton promised, his voice low and slightly husky.

Juliet bit her lip and rocked her hips faster, trying to ride one out on him before he could stop her, but his hands on her sides slowed her pace too much and she groaned in frustration. She wanted to lean forward and plant her hands on his shoulders, her fingernails biting into his skin, but when she twitched her arms almost involuntarily at the thought, she started to lose her balance a little, and his strong hands held her firmly. Her hands were tied behind her back with a gauzy scarf and although she could flex her thighs and move up and down on him, clench down on his dick inside her, it wasn't going to be enough to make her come, not by itself, not without any of her own leverage. 

“No,” she said, and it sounded like what it was, both a refusal and a plea. 

He grinned. “Okay, I'm not going to make you... yet.” 

Suddenly he sat up, catching her back before she could fall, easing her down and pulling out of her. He made sure her arms weren't bent too awkwardly behind her with a glance, and then he slipped his long, soft tongue into her pussy, his warm hands on her thighs keeping her still. She breathed up at the ceiling and tried to thrust her hips forward again, but he backed off, just the very tip of his tongue trailing around, but not over, her clit. She moaned his name, twice, and could feel him smirk against her skin, the way his lips moved inside her. 

Then he came back up, setting one hand next to her right arm and the other guiding his dick back inside her. She raised her legs and wrapped them around his back, trying to urge him closer, but he stayed still once he was all the way in, just grinning down at her and pleased with himself. She wouldn't say it. Nope. Wouldn't— _oh_ , but then used the hand not holding himself up to brush two fingers in a slick circle around her clit and her breathing became sharp inhales, her arms tensing as they tried to pull out from under her and couldn't.

“I won't,” she said, more to herself than to him by the second.

“Suit yourself,” he said, the picture of unconcerned. He bent his head down and brushed that artful tongue over her nipple, squeezing it gently between his lips, dragging his teeth over the surface. 

“I won't, I won't,” she said again, her voice high and breathy and almost as squeezed as her thighs were, almost as tight as her ankles around him. He moved to her other nipple and she felt another spike of pleasure, tried to thrust up to him, but he ignored her and went back to work. Just as she felt she couldn't hold back any longer, that she was going to give in and say please for her orgasm, he backed off her nipple, put his other hand down on the mattress, and started trying to fuck her through it. She let out a long cry with her eyes closed tight, feeling it coming on, starting to smile because she'd won after all, there was no way he'd be able to stop her now, not if he only kept going a little—

“Fuck!” she nearly screamed when he pulled out of her and sat up on his knees, breathing hard but grinning again himself because of course he'd known the exact moment that would push her over the edge, and he'd skated just up to it but not over. She started to whimper when he so, so lightly touched the tip of one finger to her clit and then pulled it back. Touched her, pulled back. She tried to thrust up to him again and he moved his finger lower, barely inside her, rubbing around her opening, _two fingers inside, all the way, crooked just right and making her twist and shout like a Beatles fan_ , pulled back, leaving her empty and wide-eyed and glaring, glaring at the way he sucked both of those fingers into his mouth and smirked at her. 

“As soon as you say it,” he repeated calmly. 

“No!” She was so wet and so on the edge that every touch was torture, especially since her arms were secured behind and underneath her, but she wasn't ready to admit defeat yet. He would make her come before she would say it this time.

“Okay,” he said, and stood up.

Her eyes flew open and she glared at him again. “Don't even _think_ about leaving me like this, Carlton.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Or?”

She spread her legs wide and pumped her hips at him. “This is for you,” she said softly, keeping his gaze until he dropped his eyes back to her pussy. “So wet, and hot, and _soft_ ,” she went on. “For you.”

He licked his lips and then slid back down on the bed. “That's true...” he mused, trailing one finger up the inside of her thigh. She breathed slowly, hoping he would stick it up inside her again, but the smug sonofabitch kept going. His hand cupped her breast and then rolled her nipple between his fingers and she couldn't help moaning again, getting more desperate. Okay, so maybe she would say it. This time. But not yet. There was still time, he could still give in first. 

At least, that's what she kept telling herself, right up until he shoved his mouth into her pussy again, sucking on her clit and then backing off, blowing cool air into her, licking up and down slowly, faster, faster, faster—and stop. She moaned again and tossed her head from side to side as she said it again, “No, no, no.”

“Whenever you're ready, darling.”

“Oh, fuck you,” she said, half-laughing.

“What's the magic word?” he teased, one hand on her breast again, circling around her nipple and then brushing over it.

She shuddered, panting, and gave in. “Please, _please_ Carlton.”

“Good girl,” he breathed, his voice rough again, and when he dived down again, he didn't stop until she screamed and writhed, nearly twitching with the intensity of it. Then he rose up enough to slam his cock inside her, his pale blue eyes now dark and nearly wild with his own pent-up desire to come, and she laid her head back and breathed, her legs gripping him and keeping him close, tight, there. She'd given in to his game this time, but they'd both won, really.

.

Lassiter gave Shawn a moderately hard shove the second they were inside the apartment, barely noticing that he hadn't known it was coming and almost stumbled. He slammed the door and flipped the lock, throwing his briefcase on the floor instead of throwing it at the wall in frustration. Goddamn sarcastic little pissant, he just _had_ to cross the line, no matter whose line it was or where it was, or where they were. He looked over at Shawn, who was giving him the big shit-eating grin again, and when he raised a hand to point down the hall, the fingers curled into his palm were tight.

“Get your smart ass into the bedroom and strip,” he ordered. Shawn had the balls to click his heels together and shoot off a salute, still grinning, although he did obey immediately. He'd almost certainly pushed Lassiter on purpose by undermining him at the PD, either because he liked making him angry and slightly embarrassed, or because he wanted brownie points with the new female officer for making her laugh when she was supposed to be following orders that didn't include 'encourage the fake psychic by making him think he's fucking cute'—either way, Shawn's mouth had a penchant for getting his ass into trouble. Literally.

In the bedroom, he found Shawn standing naked in the middle of the floor, still holding his pose while his hard cock seemed to be saluting as well. “Private Shawn Spencer reporting for duty _sah_!” he said.

Lassiter gave him another shove, this one almost sending him to the floor again, except Shawn saw it coming his time and stumbled backward two steps before the edge of the bed his the back of his legs and he sat down on it. “Lie down on your stomach,” Lassiter told him. Shawn obeyed again, but not fully—he was on his stomach, but he stuck his chin into one hand propped up by a bent elbow and waved one foot in the air nonchalantly. Lassiter ignored him for the moment and dropped to one knee, fishing the box out from underneath the bed. Shawn watched him with interest as he dug around, not looking for a toy, but coming out with three sheets of notebook paper. He selected Shawn's “No-No” list and studied carefully it for a long moment, and then he began to undress himself.

“Whatcha lookin' for?” Shawn asked, and Lassiter was pleased to hear a small note of trepidation in his voice.

He'd gotten his jacket and tie off, and after he undid the buckle of his belt and pulled it from his trousers, he looped it around one fist and walked over to the bed, holding it out so that Shawn could see it. “This,” he said.

Shawn blinked, and for just an instant his eyes flickered up to Lassiter's face, probably to see how serious he was. He continued to hold both his stony expression and the belt, and after a moment of looking at it, Shawn licked his lips. 

Dry. Worried. 

Good. 

“It's not on there,” he said at last.

“Do you want to add it?”

“...no.” His voice was a little smaller now, unsure.

Lassiter smiled. Not so fucking cocky now. He reached out with his other hand and wound his fingers into Shawn's hair, but not hard. “How about I give you one and then you can decide?” he suggested. 

“Okay.” Shawn licked his lips again, and when Lassiter pushed his head down on the mattress, he put both of his arms up toward the pillows instead of at his sides, and he spread his legs slightly.

Lassiter almost ordered him to close his eyes—if he couldn't see when it was coming, it would be harder for him to tense at the right moment—but didn't, at least not for this first one. They'd never done this before and it was going to hurt him, and as much as his ass deserved to sting for how much his mouth had run, Lassiter knew he was going to have to pay close attention to how much was enough. He secured the end of the belt in his hand with the buckle to his palm and the loop dangling free, and then he let go of Shawn's hair and put his hand on his shoulder instead. He wasn't trembling and his breathing was even. Very good. He actually put some wallop into that first lick, not only because it might be the only one, but because he really did want Shawn to know exactly what he was going to get if he wanted to go on. The belt cracked across his ass with an almost shockingly loud sound in the silent apartment, the leather sailing through the air quick and striking him hard, then following Lassiter's hand as he pulled it back. Shawn let out a startled gasp, and when Lassiter looked at his face, he saw that his eyes were wide.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“Uh huh.”

“Yes or no.”

“Yes.”

“Do you want to add that to your 'no' list?”

Shawn paused, actually thinking about it, and then he shook his head. “No. It's okay.”

“If you don't want me to stop, I'm going to really give it to you for your mouth today,” Lassiter warned him. 

“How many?”

“As many as I feel like.”

Shawn shifted slightly. “I can always tap out.”

“Yes.”

“Okay.”

Lassiter put his hand back on the top of Shawn's head. “Say your safeword.”

“Neptune.”

“Say it again now, or at any time, if you want to stop.”

Silence.

“Get up on your knees, legs spread, head down.” 

Shawn obeyed, and Lassiter rewarded him by palming his balls. Shawn jumped very slightly at the first touch, and then he turned his face into the mattress and pushed his ass back. Lassiter stood to the side, where he had plenty of room to swing, and then he leaned down to Shawn's ear. “Now say, 'my name is Shawn Spencer and my mouth writes checks my ass gets to cash'.” Shawn didn't reply to that, and Lassiter smiled. He wound the belt tighter in his fist, looked at his boyfriend's upturned ass, and aimed where his next lick would land.

He spaced them out, at least two seconds between each, sometimes as long as seven. Shawn was breathing harder by the sixth one, and by the fifteenth his ass was decidedly redder, his body was a lot closer to the bed. Lassiter gave him another really good one, watching Shawn's body rock forward with the momentum and almost sure he'd finally heard him make a sound. Lassiter had never once ordered him to be quiet unless it was an explicit 'shut up and take this'; he liked hearing the noises he made, pleasure and frustration and desperation, and yes, sometimes the pained whimpers, because he didn't _have_ to take it, but he did, and he was so good. He could hold out a while, taking it hard, and then getting his reward. This time, however, he hadn't told him to be quiet, but he seemed to be trying to anyway.

Lassiter laid his palm over one of his cheeks and felt him jump again, although this time Shawn relaxed when he realized it was a hand—also, this time, Lassiter realized that he was starting to tremble. He gently rubbed over his red skin for a minute or so, both soothing him and giving him some time to breathe, and then he gave him a light slap. “Get back up or you get more than I was planning on.”

Shawn obeyed, and the second he was back in position with his ass in the air and his legs spread, his balls dangling between them, Lassiter hit him again. Again. He could actually aim with it fairly well, and by the time he noticed that Shawn's fingers were tightly clenched in the sheet and his chest was heaving, his entire ass and parts of the backs of his thighs were bright red. Lassiter dropped the belt on the floor so that the buckle would make noise, so that Shawn would hear it and know it was over, and although he didn't move, Lassiter could tell by the long breath he let out that he understood. 

He knelt on the bed behind Shawn, although he had no intention of fucking him right now, and reached for him, turning him over and then sliding one knee between his legs so that he could lean down and wrap both arms around him. Shawn's face was pale and he was definitely shaking, his lips red from having bitten them over and over. Lassiter kissed him on the cheek and then held him, and he felt Shawn's arms go around him too, holding on tightly. He'd gotten about thirty really hard ones, ten or fifteen moderately hard, but the most sound he'd made were whimpers into the bed, no words, and definitely not his safe word. It had definitely hurt, but not _too_ much.

Lassiter got up on one hand, enough to look down at him. Shawn averted his eyes, and Lassiter took his chin and jaw into one hand, turning his face back until he looked up at him. “You've got _such_ a mouth on you,” he said quietly. Shawn blinked, and Lassiter leaned down to kiss his swollen lips. Shawn relaxed into the kiss, opening his mouth and then sighing, much more calmly, when Lassiter pulled back again. “Okay to go on?” he asked, and then— “No more belt, that part's over,” he added, when he Shawn blinked twice, rapidly, tensing a little.

He relaxed again and nodded. “Okay.”

Lassiter gave him a smile and another kiss on the cheek before standing back up and going again to the box of toys. He selected the curved prostate massager that Shawn liked so much and, after a slight detour to the bedside table for the lube, he knelt back on the bed, lifted one of Shawn's legs up, squeezed some lube onto his fingers, and pushed two inside of him, being a little more careful than he normally was because of how sensitive the skin of his ass would be about now. Shawn tensed a little and bit his lip again, but then his eyes rolled back and he breathed out a small moan. Lassiter gave him a few more hand thrusts, and then he slicked up the toy and slowly inserted it until it was set into position. He wiped his hand on the shirt Shawn had been wearing, and then he used his other hand to rub over his balls. He felt Shawn clench around the toy and then he watched in amusement as Shawn's cock hardened again and stood up right in front of his eyes.

“Good,” he said approvingly. He closed his fingers around it and gave it a few long strokes, making sure to rub the flat part of his palm over the head in the way that made Shawn shudder and moan. “Very good.” He stood up then, took a step back, and snapped his fingers to get Shawn's attention. When he looked at him, Lassiter pointed to the floor in front of him. “Now get on your knees and suck my cock.”

Shawn moved immediately, but slowly, partly because of how much his ass was surely stinging and partly because he didn't want the toy to come out. It had a pretty tapered end and ring, but it was still possible, so he settled down on the floor and then on his knees in steps. Lassiter was still wearing his trousers (and his shirt and his holster), and he stood still while Shawn undid his fly and pulled his dick out, opening his mouth and swallowing almost all of it down the second it was out of his pants. He put one hand on Lassiter's thigh for balance, and wrapped the other around the base of his cock, his head bobbing back and forth, slowly. Lassiter let Shawn get into his own rhythm, which sped up and became a little jerky when the act of sucking cock started to rile him up more and his fingers dug into Lassiter's thigh, his body rising up a little and then lowering back down, his hips rocking where he knelt because of the toy. Lassiter groaned when he felt he was close, putting his hand back on Shawn's head and gripping his hair, this time as hard as he wanted, pulling his mouth forward faster. Shawn grunted and sucked hard, and then Lassiter came in his mouth, holding him there while he tried to swallow, finally letting him go when it spilled out from between his lips and ran down his chin. He dropped down to his knees and put one arm around Shawn while he gasped for breath, his other hand gripping his cock and then stroking it again.

“Lassy,” Shawn breathed, his entire body trembling. “Fuck. Me.”

Lassiter snorted a little and ran his thumb over Shawn's lower lip, which still had his come on it. “Can't right now.”

Shawn groaned. “I know. Something else... please?” He wiped his mouth and chin with the back of his hand, then put both palms on Lassiter's neck, pulling him close and nuzzling his face underneath his jaw. “Please let me come,” he whispered. “Please.”

“Can you get back up on the bed?”

“Yeah, uh huh,” Shawn said eagerly. “How do you want me?”

Lassiter smiled at him again. “On your back, near the edge, knees bent.”

When he was in position, his cock twitching every few seconds from his body's involuntary squeezing on the toy inside him and his eyes so pleading he could have been part basset hound, Lassiter knelt in front of him. He gave the ring of the toy a small pull and watched Shawn's cock jump along with hearing him moan again. He could see the dark red skin of his ass against the light blue sheet and decided that yes, he'd taken all of the punishment he'd deserved, and probably then some. It was in his nature to be a smart ass—he'd do it again and again, knowing and wanting every consequence that came with it. Speaking of coming. 

Lassiter leaned forward and licked up his cock, starting at his balls and going up slowly, using his tongue and lips to rub the underside all the way to the head, and when he got there and found it wet and throbbing, he wasn't surprised. Shawn started to moan and whimper again, though this time it was clearly because he was going to come so hard his body was going to lock up. Lassiter licked Shawn's cock all over and then he finally sucked it down, starting a fast pace intended to end the punishment once and for all. Shawn twisted his fingers into the bed sheet and thrust his hips up, shoving his cock deep into Lassiter's mouth, and when he came it was exactly what Lassiter had been expecting—he bucked and thrashed while his cock spurted, and then when it was over he fell back and tried to breathe, at first only managing to heave, until he gasped in a huge breath and let out another small whimper that almost sounded like a sob. Lassiter pulled the toy out of him and let it land on the floor, then he sat on the edge of the bed and pulled Shawn into his arms, holding him close until he stopped shaking again.

Several minutes later, in the shower, as Lassiter soaped his abdomen and chest, Shawn looked at him uncertainly, opened his mouth, closed it, licked his lips, and looked down at the floor. Lassiter gently tipped his face up so that he had to look at him again, and he raised his eyebrows. “What?”

Shawn still hesitated. “I just... are you really that mad about me bugging you at the station?” he blurted finally.

“No,” Lassiter said at once. “I _was_ pissed off, and you know damn well I was, and you knew it when you kept it up. But I'm not seriously angry, and I'm not angry at all any more.” When he continued, his voice was softer, so that Shawn would know he was deliberately being gentle because he meant it. “I love you. Okay?”

He nodded, looking so relieved that Lassiter actually felt a little guilty. “Okay.”

Lassiter put a hand on his cheek and kissed him. “Never doubt that,” he said, his voice still quiet. “I wouldn't say it if it wasn't true. I wouldn't be with you if it wasn't. You drive me up the wall and I love you anyway. You challenge me. I keep you in line.” He paused. “If I ever go over the line... like if I did today...”

Shawn shook his head. “I'm okay. I am. I just... I dunno, you never belted me before, I was surprised.”

“If it was too much—”

He shook his head again. “That part was okay, I like trying new stuff, you just... looked really mad at first.” He shifted from one foot to the other, and then leaned his back against the wall. “And you hit me really hard,” he went on. “It hurt a lot. You wanted to hurt me, and you looked mad, so I just...”

Lassiter sighed and stepped closer so that he could have Shawn in his arms again. “I'm sorry if it was too much. I was listening to see if you needed to stop.”

“And I didn't—like I said, that part was fine. Not... all the time, and I'm not even going to put it on the list.” He smiled. “I can take whatever you want me to as long as you let me come eventually. You're my strong arm of the law, Lass.” His smile widened. “You can keep me in line... as long as you still love me.” 

“I do.”

Shawn put his arms around Lassiter's waist and linked his fingers together. “And you love my smart ass?”

“I think your ass is going to smart for a good while, Bigmouth.”

Shawn made a face. “True. Can I get a ride to the Psych office tomorrow morning?”

“Sure.” Lassiter kissed him again, still holding him, and they stayed like that until the hot water started to run cool.


	18. D/s Games On Sale 3-For-1 (pt 2)

  
_I'm trying to let you know that you're not just another_  
 _When we're under the covers, I'm under your thumb_  
 _And you're the finest of specimens, leaving me breathless_  
 _Reeling and restless, putting me to the test_  
—EVE 6, “[Bring The Night On](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hR0sw42boZk)”

  


It wasn't very often that Shawn was jolted from a midday nap by two fingers in his mouth that tasted like pussy, but damn if it wasn't putting Folgers to shame as the best part of waking up. He started sucking on them almost before his eyes were fully open, and when he heard Juliet's soft, breathy moan, he grinned and tried to sit up and reach for her.

Tried—as soon as he moved, she yanked her hand back, put both on his shoulders, and shoved him down on his back. He looked up at her and licked his lips when he saw the fierce look on her face—although he'd be lying if he attempted to claim that at least half of his instant hunger wasn't due to her bare nipples almost in his face. 

“Hands under your back,” she demanded. “Don't touch me.”

He obeyed, pouting a little. “That's no fun.”

She pressed a finger on his lips and he shut up, getting even harder. She grinned and started to move up, crawling up his chest, and when he saw that she was entirely naked, not just her top half, Little Shawn did anything but yawn. “It'll be fun for me,” she said. “You can move your tongue.”

He tried to stay still so that she could center herself enough to sit on his face, but as soon as her thigh was close he couldn't help but turn his mouth into it and lick at her soft skin. She grabbed the top of his head and moved him into place, and the second she was low enough he craned his neck up and licked into her, relaxing with his head back down on the mattress when she settled on her knees. He loved eating her like this because she got so damn wiggly, rising up and then grinding on his mouth, looking down from high above him, her intense gaze between her breasts as she panted and moaned more than enough to have him thrusting both his tongue and his hips upwards over and over. She was so wet that he figured she must have gotten home super horny and pounced on him almost at once, and the thought had him sucking at her clit until she cried out and her whole body shook. 

She collapsed onto the bed next to him with a huge, satisfied sigh. “Ahh,” she said, and then fake-nonchalantly stood up. “Thank you, sweetheart. I think I'm going to have a shower now. You can go back to your nap.”

Shawn licked his wet lips and whimpered, being a super good boy and keeping his hands where she'd told him. He'd laid down earlier wearing just a tee and his shorts, and the latter were now so confining that he was getting an image of a crusher squishing the Terminator. 

Her eyes trailed down to his shorts area, which was sticking up and claiming itself in the name of Pants, hoping to soon be a free nation. She smiled then and held out a hand. “Okay, you can come with.”

He was off the bed and across the room in half an instant, almost glancing over his shoulder to see if there was a Shawn-shaped cloud where he'd just been, but then she took his hand and led him toward the bathroom, and all thought except _rules_ and _Jewelly Jules_ left him again. In the shower, Juliet pressed her wet body against his and gave him a long kiss, both of her hands on his hips. He kissed her back eagerly, and then she pulled back, grinned, and raised both of his arms, pressing his wrists to the wall above his head. He obeyed without the need for command, keeping them there as she soaped up one of the scrubbies and began applying a layer of suds to his skin that smelled like vanilla cake and looked like fairy come. He snorted a little at that and she grinned at him again, lightly dragging the mesh of the scrubber over his chest and stomach. She kept grinning as she thoroughly washed every part of him excluding his dick. She even made sure his balls were squeaky and shiny clean, how considerate was that? Just one of the many things he loved about her—how much she thought of others. 

There was soap on his dick from where it had slid off his wet skin, and his arms were getting tired from having to keep them raised, and when she rinsed the scrubby he perked up, hopeful—too soon, of course, as she just aimed another smirk at him and reached for his shampoo. Her hands were magnificent, the digits of champions, and as she stepped closer to lather up his hair and amuse herself by giving him a fauxhawk and then Satan's horns, he attempted to very subtly inch his dick closer to her hip. He was playing with fire (in the shower! That made it safer, right?) and he knew it, but she was so wet, and he was so soapy, and there had to be some way they could put those things together for some wholly clean fun.

Juliet turned into the spray again, this time with her hands out to rinse the shampoo from them, and he barely had time to notice when she adjusted the faucets the wrong way before she unhooked the detachable shower head and suddenly doused him with ice cold water. He shrieked and held his hands up, and then over his suddenly shrinking man areas when she aimed that way, but then _no part of him was safe_ as she held the sprayer over his head. It was true that his hair was all rinsed off, but he was now literally half the man he used to be and he started whining, unable to help it. She pulled the water off and gave him a haughty How Now Brown Cow look, and he shook his head like a dog out of the ocean before applying his sad puppy please-give-me-pleasings bottom lip push (patent pending). 

Jules still held the shower head at the ready, and she gave him a sweet smile before saying, “You took your hands down.”

Fudgesicles. Or icicles, like the ones clinging to his balls. He reluctantly put them back up, and then clenched his teeth when she aimed the frozen spray back over him, seeming to want to make perfectly sure that he was entirely rinsed. He was shivering all over by the time she aimed the water back at the floor again, and when she stepped closer to him and pressed her warm warm warm body all against his front he moaned and pressed back as well as he could with his hands still pretend-stuck to the wall above his head. 

Jules shivered as well, sending a little thrill back down to Little Shawnsicle. “Brr, chilly,” she said, and adjusted the temperature of the water again. He could see where the little arrows on the taps were pointing now and knew it was going to be hot again, but couldn't help jumping a tiny bit when the first drops streamed over his skin. 

Shawn moaned again, leaning his head back, and he was in the middle of thinking of synonyms for heaven that mostly had to do with things that were _wet_ and _hot_ when the water moved back, Jules dropped down to her knees on the tub floor, and she sucked his cock into her mouth. He gasped again—so wet and so hot and slippy slidey soft—and bit his lip, trying not to thrust into her mouth until she was done teasing him or punishing him or rewarding him or whatever this even was, all he knew was that he wanted more and if he was patient and good she'd give it to him. She put both hands on his hips and increased her suction, her amazingly soft lips and tongue going up and down, swirling all around, mayor of Blowjob Town. He groaned when she took all of it into her throat several times, fast and hard, and then she pulled off with a popping sound and looked up at him, grinning and standing up slowly enough that her whole body rubbed against him. 

She kissed his cheek, his mouth, his jaw, his neck, and then she took his hands and put them on her sides before putting her own arms around his neck. “Very good,” she said, and lightly bit his earlobe. “Want to fuck me?”

He made some sort of sound that was supposed to be yes and instead could be likened to that of a chipmunk making love to a cheese grater, his fingers rubbing the soft skin of her hips and pulling her close enough to grind against his cock. She turned around then, bent over and up on her toes with her thighs slightly spread, and when he trailed a finger down her ass and then into her pussy he had to grip onto his balls with his other hand to stop Little Shawn from getting too excited and throwing up on himself. He guided his cock into her and grabbed onto her hips, and when she started pushing back he stood still and looked up at the ceiling, breathing in harsh gasps and trying to hold on. She was still so wet inside, and the hot water from the shower splashed over her back and ran down over both of them, and _fuck_ if he ever had more than a slippery grip on any part of his life when she wasn't a necessary component, all around him and keeping him whole and steady and safe. He held on to her, but lost all control over everything else, and when he came it was so good that he didn't even care that they'd forgotten his conditioner.

.

“You know, I've wondered before why it is that you're never in charge,” Lassy said one night as he sat on their bed, raising an eyebrow.

Shawn was in the middle of the bed tonight, playing a game on his phone while he waited for the others to finish what they'd been up to that evening (Lassy had been in 'his' room, being all imposing toward a notice that one of the felons he'd arrested several years ago was going to be released shortly, and Jules was folding some of her laundry while occasionally glancing at the TV in the corner of the bedroom) before sleepy-bye time—or, from the sounds of it, sexy-bye time, which was more than okay with Shawn. “I'm so in charge,” he said at once. “You just never listen. Watch, I'll prove it: Lassy, go clean Siddy's litter box.”

Lassy gave him his version of the Please, Son! look. “Not even if it was my cat.” Shawn shrugged, and Lassy rolled his eyes. “That's not even what I meant, you know I mean in the bedroom here. I honestly can't tell if it's because you just like being dominated that much, or if you're just lazy.”

Juliet snorted. “I think it's both.”

“You're damn right it's both,” Shawn said. He rolled over enough to set his phone on the side table, then returned to his previous position, stretched out on his back, and he folded his hands on his stomach. “I dunno, I like you guys making me do stuff, and you like it too, so whatever.” He thought about it a second while Juliet set her basket on the floor and slid onto her side of the bed. “I think I must be too chill to be a dom,” he said at last. “I'm just like... 'do stuff!' and if you were like, 'no!', then I'm like...” He shrugged again. “I can't keep serious long enough to be all Daddy says you're gettin' a whuppin' for that backtalk.”

Jules made a face. “The 'daddy' thing is on my 'no' list, Shawn.”

“I know,” he said. “It's on mine, too. I dunno, I feel like this way works. My chestworks are too soft and gooey to deliver punishments when someone disobeys or doesn't follow the rules.”

“Then start small,” Lassiter said. “Just give directions.”

“Um...” Shawn licked his lips. “Head south?”

Juliet snorted. “He means orders. You do give directions when we're just having sex, but he's right—you never give orders or even try to take the upper hand when there's one to be had.”

“Order me to do something,” Lassy demanded. “Right now.”

Shawn blinked, drawing a blank for a long moment until he glanced at Jules again and saw her trying to smother a smirk. “Um, if I did... wouldn't I just be following your orders and thus still not in charge?” he asked.

“He's got a point,” Juliet said.

Lassy shrugged. “I just wanted to see if he would.”

Although he was certain that he was right, and he either wouldn't be able to go through with it, or to stay serious long enough to keep the game going, Shawn realized he was starting to get hard at the idea of Lassy having to follow _his_ commands. “If I did would you actually do what I said?” he asked. 

Lassiter gave him a considering look. “Is it going to be something stupid like 'dance in the margarine'?”

“No way, that sounds much too slippery.” Shawn licked his lips again as he thought back to the previous week, when he'd been nappus interuptus. “Simon Says get naked and lie down on your back.”

“You're not Simon.”

Shawn huffed and folded his arms. “I knew you weren't going to play. I even gave you an easy one, but nooooooo.”

“Fine.” Lassiter stood up and began stripping off his SBPD tee and the pajama bottoms he'd changed into a few minutes ago. He laid his clothes on Juliet's cedar chest and then settled onto the bed, his hands loosely folded on his stomach. “Now what?”

Shawn looked at Jules, and she gave him a bright smile. “Hi,” she said.

He pointed at her. “Also naked.” She stood up and began pulling off her clothes as well, and when she sat back down, he tried it again, indicating her hand. “Suck on your fingers.” She did, licking her index and middle fingers and then sucking them down, her eyes locked with his. He watched for about a minute, and then he had another idea, and aimed his finger at her again, trailing it from her mouth to her crotch. “Good... now rub your clit.” She obeyed at once, her tongue coming out to wet her lips while her fingers circled around, and Shawn stared at his hands in amazement. “I'm a wizard, Harry!”

“What?” Lassy said, making the sort of face he did when Shawn made references he didn't get—he knew they were references, and he knew that he wasn't getting them, and it annoyed him. 

For the moment, however, Shawn didn't care. He pointed his magic index finger at him now. “Shut it!” he said gleefully. “Zip the lip! Only I can talk now! Everyone must listen to me and me alone!”

“Oh my god, you are drunk with power,” Jules said, sounding both amused and slightly worried.

Shawn turned back to her and gasped. “I said only I can talk! And you made mouth sounds.”

She gave him an innocent look, then removed her hand from her pussy and held both up at him in defiance. _What are you gonna do about it?_

He was going to... something! “Put your fingers back in your mouth,” he said, and then he nearly wiggled in excitement when she did. He knew this wasn't serious—there had been no parameters set for him being in charge of the game, and although they'd made Lassy come up with a safeword when he'd moved back to California, Shawn wasn't sure if the other man remembered it, as he'd never even come close to having to use it, not that Shawn would be able to come up with something that might require the use of it. It was kind of super hot to be the conductor of the train for once, though. The director.

He'd kind of always wanted to direct a porno... y'know, just to see what it was like.

Shawn crawled to the foot of the bed and turned around so that he could have a better view. “Lassy,” he said, and grinned when he got a suspicious look. “You. Make your cock hard.” He paused. “Or I'm going to call you Carly Sweetieface for a week.”

“You would, too,” Lassy muttered, reaching down and wrapping his fingers around his dick.

Shawn pointed at Jules, who was giggling around her fingers. “You... hmm.” He thought for a second and then grinned again. “Get up on his face, but facing me. And rub your nipples.” Jules vaulted up almost at once to follow that particular direction. “Oh yeah,” he added. “And don't come, not yet.” 

His own cock was rock hard as he watched the show for several minutes, and when Juliet's eyelids began fluttering and she had to rise up off Lassy's tongue to keep herself from coming, then started to say “oh!” in a little breathless voice as Lassiter strained his mouth up to continue licking her, Shawn had his dick out of his shorts and in his hand and decided that, at least for this round, he was just about through with the scene being credited as directed by Shawn Spencer if he couldn't co-star as well. He stood up at the end of the bed just long enough to almost jump out of his boxers and tee, and then he moved Lassy's legs apart, knelt between them, and leaned forward enough to kiss Jules. He felt for Lassy's hand with one of his own and fitted it around both of their cocks, and then he groaned into her mouth and thrust his hips forward when Lassy started squeezing and stroking him. 

“Mmmmm, oh, oh Shawn,” Jules whispered against his cheek. “Can I come?”

“Yes,” he said at once, and then almost did himself when her face changed ( _so so beautiful_ ) and she cried out. When he was sure she was finished, he gently nudged her to the side and back onto the bed, and then he crawled up enough to stick his tongue in Lassy's mouth. He kind of wanted to fuck him, but it would take too long to get him ready and Shawn was past the point of patience. “Last order of the day,” he breathed, and arched his back so that his ass touched Lassy's dick. “Fuck me like a two-dollar hooker that still owes you fifty cents' worth of doinking.” 

Lassy snorted. “What did you do that was worth a dollar fifty?”

“I danced in the margarine.”

“I'm not paying anything over a dollar for that.”

“Fine,” Shawn whined. “Just fuck me!”

Lassy grinned. “You didn't say Simon Says.”

Shawn almost growled in frustration—there was _no way_ he was this annoying when the other two were trying to order _him_ around—and then he grabbed the lower half of Lassy's face like the other man did to him when he wanted absolutely to be obeyed or to have Shawn's attention. “Fuck me right the fuck now,” he commanded. Lassiter's eyes blazed, and Shawn thought for a second that the move hadn't been well-received, but then he found himself on his back with his legs in the air, Lassy pausing barely long enough to snatch the lube from Juliet's hand and squirt some onto his hand and then over his cock before Shawn was nearly impaled and then fucked so hard the entire bed shook. Evidently his directing debut had been accepted by the audience. As Jules leaned over and started jerking him off, he let go and let them take back control, and loved every second with them no matter who had the wheel. After all, they each had magic hands.


	19. Under the Weather...and Over the Moon

**SEPTEMBER 2010**

  
Juliet woke up for work with a pounding headache; her sinuses were also blocked and she felt slightly nauseated. She got out of bed, slipping carefully underneath Shawn's outstretched arm so she wouldn't wake him, and plodded into the bathroom. What the hell—she hated summer colds. This was the tail-end of summer, but even so, having to go to work when she was stuffed up made her cranky.

She closed the bathroom door and looked at her pale reflection, wondering what might be good to eat for breakfast that might help speed the whole thing along. Orange juice for the vitamin C, probably, maybe some toast and oatmeal—it wasn't like she was going to be tasting a hell of a whole lot right now anyway. She pictured the oatmeal: brownish-grey, lumpy, squishy, sticking to her spoon. It was always mushy no matter how she made it, and although it tasted better than it looked, slightly, one of her brothers had once made the comparison between plain oatmeal and cat barf, and unfortunately, it was usually a fair comparison.

At the thought of cat barf (with a little skim milk and a sliced banana on top) in a bowl, sticking to her spoon, Juliet suddenly swung around and fell to her knees in front of the toilet, glad that if it was going to happen, it had begun before she'd started eating and not just as she was sitting down to her breakfast. She heaved for a couple of minutes, closing her eyes so that she wouldn't have to look as she fumbled for the handle. She stood up slowly and went back to the sink to rinse her mouth. Her reflection was even paler than before, and her head wham'd and bam'd and didn't even thank-you-ma'am'd. 

Nope, she decided. She had sick days she could use for work, and although Shawn insisted that when you were sick was the worst time to use them, that was what they were for. She didn't want to get him or Carlton sick too, though; she went to the kitchen for a glass of juice, and after she poured it, she wrote a note on the small whiteboard sticking to the freezer compartment that she wasn't feeling well, that she had decided to stay home, but that she was going to camp out in the other bedroom and that they shouldn't attempt to disrupt her unless they wanted to get sick as well. 

She called her supervisor, who encouraged her to go back to bed and feel better, and then she trudged to the back bedroom, the one that was technically Carlton's, and after she set her half-drunk glass of juice on the night stand, she slipped underneath the cool sheets and was asleep almost at once.

.

Shawn was pleasantly surprised when he woke up; he knew he was going to miss Jules as she headed to work, but today was an off-day for Lassy, as he was going on a night rotation the next day, and although he usually got up at the same time whether he worked or not, he was still in bed with Shawn, still curled against him, warm and cozy. Shawn grinned and closed his eyes again, snuggling closer, and when Lassy sighed in his sleep and put an arm around him, he felt happy and peaceful and loved.

Then his body decided to re-introduce an old friend that was, apparently, feeling left out: his dick. Ah, morning wood—without which the early-morning stick 'em up was definitely lacking. Shawn opened his eyes again and considered the situation, how best to go about making it worse before making it a hell of a lot better. Lassy was facing him, deeply asleep, his face smooth and relaxed and completely unconcerned, not an air he usually affected when he was awake. Shawn shifted enough so that he could get one of his hands in front of him, and Lassy didn't move. Huh—he must really be asleep, then. Shawn thought he could wake him up, a little at a time. 

By the time the other man opened his eyes, those pale, ice blues slightly confused for the first two seconds until they focused and saw the grin on Shawn's face, there was a double case of morning wood in the room—it was so weird how things like that could spread from person to person when they shared a bed. Shawn had moved close enough to lightly rub Lassy's dick through his pajama pants, with very light, very gentle strokes and then easy squeezes, until it was poppin' fresh. Then he'd managed to get it out of said pants and into his hand; it wasn't until Shawn's own dick was nestled up against it, both in his hand, that Lassy woke up and realized he was in for some early morning delight. 

“Hi,” Shawn said, and squeezed their dicks. “Look what I found.”

Lassy didn't say anything, but the arm he still had draped over Shawn's shoulders pulled him close enough so that he could kiss him on the mouth, and then his hips thrust his dick into Shawn's hand a little more. _Awesome_ , he was up and he was up and he was _up_ for something—Lassy wasn't always ready to get down the second he woke up, but Shawn had been hoping that getting him riled before he even knew it would help. He'd had another hope as well, one that was also looking a lot brighter: along with not always wanting sex at any possible moment, like Shawn and usually Jules, he didn't often like to be on the receiving end. He would, but it took a long time to get him relaxed enough and ready for it, even if it was Jules and her strap-on. 

It wasn't just that he was definitely a top, or that he was the alpha-male type that thought taking it up the ass was submissive and made him less of a man, or anything like that—it was simply that his body didn't really enjoy the sensation of being fucked, of being penetrated. (Shawn had asked once, just to be sure, and Lassy had told him that he wished he did like it more, because he totally _would_ let Shawn be on top more often, it was just that he thought it was uncomfortable and painful, and that he couldn't get into it if it hurt, and it took so long to loosen him up that it was difficult for spontaneity, that it was somewhat of a hassle, and that it just made more sense that they go for what they both liked best anyway.) 

However, Shawn had found that the few times he _had_ been able to fuck Lassy and get him liking it _had_ been spontaneous—it was when they planned for it, and Lassy had awhile to think about how uncomfortable it was going to be, that it was going to feel weird, that it was going to hurt, that he tensed up even more. 

About a year ago, in Georgia, right after Lassy had confessed his love for them and they'd decided to be together, Shawn had climbed on top of him in the bed, between his legs and grinding on him, kissing him and telling him how much he loved him and that everything was perfect now. It had helped that they'd both been drinking, enough for Lassiter to relax completely and not get embarrassed at the schmoopy things Shawn was saying. Looking up at him and holding on to him, Lassy had shifted slightly and then lifted his legs, so that Shawn's dick was pressed not against his own, but against his ass, and (after the requisite prep, of course), when Shawn pushed into him, starting _so_ slowly and going through every damn thing he could think of to slow down and keep his pace even, to not hurt him, to wait until he was ready for more, it had finally clicked together. _They_ had—Lassy lay bonelessly on the bed, giving up all control to Shawn, looking up at him and trusting him, loving him, slightly out of breath while Shawn stroked his cock and sunk all the way into him at the same time. 

Then his body had tightened a little again, but this time not in anxiety or pain, but with pleasure, with wanting, and Shawn carefully started to move faster. Lassy had started to writhe a little when his body wanted more, he moaned Shawn's name and then lifted his legs more, allowing him better access so that he could thrust forward eagerly, and there hadn't been a single hint of pain on his face when he panted “ _Oh, Shawn, Christ yes, Shawn, Shawn!_ ” and started to come all over them both. When his body clenched down on him, Shawn was exactly on the edge, and when Lassy looked in his eyes and said his name and he felt the cock in his hand jerk and then spurt, he was done for in every way. Lassy had said he was a little sore after that, but it had been good and he'd wanted to try it again now that he finally understood _how good_ it could feel, and Shawn's perfect memory filed away four instances of that bliss before he and Jules had had to leave and come back to Santa Barbara. They had done it that way a few times since, but it had never been that good again, at least not yet.

In the bed they shared with Jules, Shawn took his hand off Lassy's dick and used it to push him on his back, at the same time rising up so that he could nudge Lassy's legs apart and climb over one, settling between them. He rested their dicks together again and then moved his hips to slide them against each other, looking down at Lassy and then leaning down to kiss him. He didn't need to ask if he wanted to in general, that much was obvious, but he needed to ask about the other way, because he badly wanted to now, especially with the memory of the first time it had worked so well coming over him. 

“Lassy,” he murmured. “Can I be on top? Please?”

Lassy looked up at him for a few seconds, awake but still slightly groggy from having slept so hard. “You want to ride me?”

“No, I—” Shawn stopped suddenly, considering that. They'd done it before and it was _great_ —when Shawn was all the way down on him, he had so much huge, hard cock up his ass that it felt like it was going to be tapping the back of his teeth sometime soon, and he was so close to coming that it was difficult to rise up enough to slam back down. Jules had been there to help him keep his balance while upright, and then to lean forward slightly and build a rhythm while his legs shook. Eventually he'd just ended up hanging onto Juliet while Lassy thrust up into him, and he'd bitten her shoulder so hard when she wrapped her hand around his dick and he came that he'd drawn blood. Not much, just a few drops that welled up in the divots from his teeth, but enough for her to go to the doctor just to be safe, and she now had a very small white scar from one of his teeth. “No,” he said again, although he was making a mental note that they definitely try that again sometime soon, sans the biting. “I want to fuck you.”

Now Lassy was completely awake and alert, and he looked reluctant. “Oh. Um, well...”

Shawn kissed him again. “Please,” he said again softly. “I'll be slow and gentle. You won't even have to shut your eyes and think of England.”

“Why would I think of England?'

“Okay, Ireland.”

Lassy raised an eyebrow. “Contrary to what you might think, my sense of patriotism to this country and my pride in my heritage doesn't exactly get me in the mood.”

“Oh. So you don't want to kiss the Blarney Bone?”

Lassiter rolled his eyes. “Shawn.”

“If you don't want to, that's okay,” he said. “But I promise I'll be easy. Don't you remember coming when I fucked you?” Shawn couldn't help grinding on him again at the thought. “That was _so_ good, Lassy...”

“I remember,” he said, his voice a little lower. 

“And I'll stop if you want me to.”

“You really woke up set on this, didn't you?”

“It's been a while, and I love you, and yes.”

Lassy smiled at last. “All right,” he said. “Just—you're right, it's been awhile, so...”

“Slow and gentle,” Shawn promised. “I always am with you, aren't I?”

“Yes.”

Shawn kissed him again and dragged his lips down to his neck. “Don't think about how it's gonna feel weird and hurt,” he murmured. “Think about how amazing it is when you let go and I hit that spot at just the right angle and you grab my thighs to pull me into you harder.”

Lassy made an “mmm” sound and Shawn grinned, and then he rose up enough to push up the tee he was wearing and kiss down his chest and stomach. He got a couple of hairs in his lips but brushed at them absently, knowing he would soon have quite enough saliva in his mouth to get rid of them. Lassy's dick was still out of his pants from when Shawn had pulled it out earlier, and when he got down far enough he licked all around the head of it, rubbing his lips all over and down to the base. Lassy groaned quietly when he sucked it all the way into his throat, and then Shawn sat up again, his hand pumping Lassy's slick cock while he grinned, pleased and anticipatory. “Just a sec,” he promised, and crawled over him again, this time going for the drawer in one of the side tables that had the lube. He looked at it for a moment, and then he felt zinged with a better idea; he tossed it back into the drawer and slid it closed, and then he slid onto the floor to get the treasure chest.

“You don't think that's necessary?” Lassy asked, getting up on his elbows.

“Oh, yeah, of course, but I figured this stuff would make it easier.” He found the _other_ lube, the kind Jules had bought after the first time she'd let him fuck her in the ass and said that it had been quite painful (and she didn't even have a real dick to stroke and keep hard to help), the stuff that had something in it that helped numb the area. They didn't normally use it, as Jules wasn't up for that very often, and plain slicky-goo was more than enough for Shawn when someone was going to fuck him, but he felt like an idiot for never managing to bring this up before. True, the original tube Jules had bought had been advertised on the website as trial-sized, and Shawn had used a lot of it when they'd first gotten it (enough for her to actually get into it, thrusting her tight ass back onto him so hard that he'd nearly crushed her when he fell forward and started pounding her), and it was good for only twice more before it was empty. She'd ordered another, bigger bottle, but it had always gotten passed over when one of them went treasure-hunting for something else, and although he'd meant to bring it up before, he was too goddamned easily distracted. The one time he'd tried to dig it out with the intention of showing it to Lassy and asking if it would help, it had been underneath a cock ring and a leather strap with a handle, and Shawn had instead instantly decided he was going to be very, very bad, bad enough to punish, bad enough so that he'd feel it for days. Which, of course, the others had seen to.

Now, he was dead set on this, and he slid the box back underneath the bed with only the tube in his hands; he reached over to hand it to Lassy to look at, and then he diverted to a basket of laundry in the chair by the closet that oh so conveniently was full of towels. He grabbed one and then debated whether or not to get a condom from the box as well. They didn't normally use them, as they'd all been tested before the three of them had decided to start up together, Jules and Shawn didn't mind getting semen all over or inside them (as long as they could wipe up or shower afterward), and Juliet was on birth control that had been working perfectly for them for years. However, Shawn didn't want the numbing agent in the lube to numb up his dick so that _he_ couldn't feel the sensation of being inside Lassy, so he decided to grab one. 

He popped back up on the bed and tossed the condom up to where it'd be within Lassy's reach, and then he grabbed one of their pillows—Juliet's, just because it was closer—and spread the towel over it. He looked up and saw that Lassy was reading the lube with the _Rear Entry_ label on it, and he snickered. Lassy glanced over at him. “Something funny?”

“Nah.” He held his hand out. “Gimme.”

Lassy didn't. “This actually works? I've seen it in there, but I've never seen either of you actually use it.”

“Yeah, it works for Jules when she lets me fuck her in the ass, but we don't do that very often. It does work, though—that's the second tube we've bought. I've never tried it... you know how much I like it when you fuck me so hard it hurts.”

“Yeah.” Now Lassy did toss it to him. “Okay, I guess. Might as well give it a shot.”

Shawn got the pillow underneath him, squeezed a little of the lube onto his fingers, and then went back to sucking his cock while the tips of his fingers circled Lassy's hole, and then he very gently slid one finger in, just to the first knuckle. Lassy's legs were bent at the knees so that Shawn would have access, and he wrapped his other arm around one of his legs as he pressed just a little more, getting that single finger in to the second knuckle, and sucking on his dick faster at the same time. He didn't know how long it took for the numbing part to kick in, so he continued to be gentle, working just his one finger back and forth very slowly, crooked slightly. He pushed a tiny bit farther in on every second or third time until he had his whole finger inside him. He pulled it all the way back out and added a little more lube, and this time, when he started to push in, Lassy felt a lot looser, and he let out a sigh that was partly a moan. 

Shawn looked up at him, holding eye contact while he pushed his whole finger all the way inside him in one; he twisted it just a little, to get a better angle, and he grinned when he pressed on a spot just behind Lassy's balls and the other man's eyes blazed at him while he tried to hold back another moan and couldn't. “Better?” Shawn asked.

“Much better,” Lassiter confirmed, and clenched on Shawn's finger a little, completely voluntarily.

“It's working, then?” Shawn was trying not to be smug, but he couldn't stop a small smirk as he added the tip of his second finger and Lassy suddenly pushed back at him, getting both of them halfway in one thrust. Lassy grunted a little at that, and Shawn waited a couple of seconds, leaning forward to suck on the head of his dick again, before carefully pushing them all the way inside. He was still super tight, but the numbing stuff really did seem to be working, and Shawn knew he would have to remember to be careful and not go too hard—just because it wasn't going to hurt a lot didn't mean his body was actually stretched well enough so that he wouldn't be hella sore and decide the aftermath didn't make it worthwhile. 

“Yes, it's working,” Lassy said, breathing a little harder. “Is that two?”

“Yup.”

“Try three.”

“In a sec.” First, Shawn wanted to get him a little more wound up, get him wanting to be filled up. He crooked his fingers again and rubbed them inside him, and the second he heard Lassy almost gasp when he found it, he sucked his cock down all the way and started working it faster. Lassy made an almost strangled moaning sound and Shawn could see that his fingers were twisted in the sheets. His dick was rock hard, and when he let go and pushed back on Shawn's hand, hard, Shawn's own cock throbbed and he told it to shush, just a couple more minutes and it'd get all it wanted. 

“Fffff _fuck_ , Shawn,” Lassy managed, his whole body tight. “Oh, Jesus.”

Shawn let go of his cock and grinned. “Thanks, but just 'Shawn' will do.”

“Smart ass.”

“Yup, the smart ass that's gonna have your ass.”

“Good,” Lassy said quietly, his eyes hazy and his chest heaving a little. 

Shawn pulled out his two fingers and added the third, and when he started to push them in and Lassy pushed back, he pushed them in all the way, pumped them four or five times, and then that was all the prep he felt he could stand before getting the show on the road. He wiped his fingers off on the towel and moved between Lassy's legs, holding the tube of numbing lube in one hand and gesturing with the other. “Gimme the condom.”

Lassy looked to the side and felt for it, handing it over quickly and then watching while Shawn rolled it on and squirted more of the lube onto his fingertips, coating his dick carefully and then wiping off his fingers again, not wanting to get it on Lassy's dick either when he was ready to make him come. Lassy raised his legs up when Shawn moved in, and when he cautiously pushed, and the head of his dick slipped inside him, Lassy's eyes closed and he started to breathe harder. Shawn wrapped his fingers around Lassy's dick and squeezed gently as he pushed in a little more, and then he almost fell forward when Lassy's heels suddenly dug into his back and pulled him forward hard, his dick pushing in almost all the way. 

“Shawn,” Lassy hissed, and then he clenched down on him and moaned quietly. 

“Sorry, I didn't think you were gonna do that, I almost lost my balance.”

“No.” Lassy opened his eyes and Shawn saw at once that he looked on the edge of coming undone already. “Shawn. Sonofa—Jesus, that feels—” He stopped again and squeezed Shawn's cock inside him, causing Shawn to moan and squeeze Lassy's dick again. Lassy's hands went to Shawn's thighs and gripped him hard, tugging him closer, and Shawn pushed his dick inside him all the way. He was so tight, and Shawn was so hard, that it should have hurt a lot, but instead Lassiter was squirming a little, like he wanted more. “Shawn, fuck,” he said again. “ _This_ I can handle. Why didn't—why didn't you mention this before?”

“Because I'm a stupid, stupid man,” Shawn said softly, pulling back enough to carefully thrust in again. He wanted to let go of himself and start fucking him hard and fast, but reminded himself that that numbing stuff wouldn't last forever. He wanted to make Lassy come while he was inside him again, knowing not only how much he loved the feeling of coming with a dick pounding his ass, but remembering how much he loved the feeling of Lassy tightening down on him and coming while Shawn was pounding his ass. Plus, Lassy seemed to think it was good manners to make Shawn come first when he was fucking him, and it made a kind of sense if they wanted to be able to go at the same time, otherwise there would have to be blowjobs. Not that Shawn ever complained about that, but there really was something amazing about coming at the same time with someone else. 

He moved a little faster, paying close attention to Lassy's face and how tight he felt; at the same time he started jerking his dick faster and harder. Lassy seemed to let go, his whole body rocking with Shawn's movements, and then he moaned loudly and knocked Shawn's hand off his dick, taking it up himself while muttering, “Fuck, Shawn, yes, fuck me.” He groaned again, this time deep in his chest, his hand squeezing his balls hard.

As if he ever needed a better invitation than that! Shawn held Lassy's legs up so that he didn't have to, trying to keep his slow pace but now thrusting his whole dick inside him and jerking his hips forward once before pulling back and doing it again. Lassy was clenching down on him so hard that it was difficult to move without thinking that he was going to hurt him, but according to the look on Lassy's face and the sounds he was now making, it wasn't pain that he was feeling.

“Faster, Shawn, come on,” he muttered. 

_Not first not first_ , Shawn told himself, speeding up enough to try to thrust in at the same time Lassy's hand went to the head of his cock, but he could already tell that it wasn't going to be very damn much longer that he could hold out—he never could once Jules would rub her clit as he fucked her and she'd start to moan and clench on him, and he always started to feel desperate not to blow before her, wanting to see her face and feel her arch into him as she came with him inside her. If he couldn't, he'd be glad to feel her hand pull his hair hard as she shoved his face into her pussy, but that wasn't always as good because he couldn't see her. He could sometimes look up at Lassy in time to see his face if he came in his mouth, but usually he was focusing so much on sucking his dick that he'd miss it.

And, in thinking about those things, he knew he had almost no time left. “Lassy,” he moaned. “Oh my god, god, fuck, you come now, oh fuck.”

“Close,” Lassy managed to grunt. “Harder.”

He was going to have to hope it would be enough that they'd come at the same time, or Shawn would blow his load, his dick would soften, and Lassy's orgasm wouldn't be as good. It was all he could do to hold his legs up a little higher and then lay into him, fucking him so hard the bed started to shake. He pictured moldering Brussels sprouts, a pile of dirty sweat socks, a marine biology textbook, a newscast about a dog that liked to water ski—and then Lassy was coming, semen squirting through his fingers and onto his stomach, and Shawn's entire body jerked as he followed suit. He thrust forward just once more, and then he pulled out, knowing that even though he'd tried his best to be careful, Lassy was going to be sore as fuck probably for the rest of the day. He really hoped he'd find it was worth it, and by the way Lassy was panting and moaning a little, coming down from being so far up, he thought he just might. 

Shawn stood up, his legs a little wobbly at first, and pulled off the condom. He dropped it into the little trash bin on the side Juliet had been sleeping on, which was half-full of tissues and not much else. He flopped back down on the bed and threw an arm over Lassy, getting some come on his arm, but whatever, that's what showers were for. Lassy was still breathing hard, but he pulled Shawn close and kissed him. “Love you,” he said quietly. 

“Right back atcha,” Shawn said, so pleased and happy that he felt like rainbows were going to come shooting out of his pores. That would sure be fitting, wouldn't it? “Shower?”

“Yeah.” Lassy heaved another huge sigh and then his breathing was regular again. “Go get it started.”

“Okay.”

Shawn got up and made his way to the bathroom, turning on the taps full to hot. He used the toilet and then decided his mouth was sticky and he wanted a drink, and when he went out to the fridge for some juice, he saw a note from Juliet that she was sick that morning and not at work at all, but in the other bedroom. Hmm, that sucked. Maybe after he and Lassy were done showering he'd make breakfast for everyone, see if that helped Jules feel better. He decided that was the plan, and after making sure they had eggs and frozen waffles, he went back to the bedroom to get Lassy up and into a lather.

.

After a week off and on of feeling under the weather, something started to ping at at Juliet—a suspicion, a feeling, something—and she decided to check, just to be sure, just to get that nagging little thought out of her head.

“Oh!” she said softly, one hand flying to her mouth. She was alone in the apartment one early afternoon, and she was suddenly very glad, because she wasn't entirely sure what to think, or what to do. One was routine, and one could also be a fluke.

Two, though?

Two was going to require a trip to the clinic, just to be sure. To be _absolutely_ sure, even though the little plus sign on the pregnancy test rang true deep inside her. She'd heard of people just 'knowing' that they were pregnant, and although she'd just assumed her recent bout of early-morning nausea had been a touch of the low-grade flu, she now felt absolutely still and centered, all except for what felt like Fourth of July sparklers in the bottom of her heart. 

She pushed it down, because she was practical when she needed to be, and she damn well needed to be right now—they hadn't planned this, hadn't even talked about it, hadn't even talked about the _possibility_ , not even in a 'someday' scenario. They'd been so focused on the general smooth sailing of their relationship, and of holding onto each other as the few waves (people being nosy, which had seemed to stop entirely as Juliet changed jobs and was no longer around the PD for people to speculate about, and she'd been working with a new group of people) that they hadn't spoken much about what might come in the future. If they'd been a regular (couple) relationship, especially a straight one, children would almost certainly be the natural next stop on the road. But there were so many reasons they weren't regular, the first being that they weren't a couple.

The three of them. With a child? 

Well. First things first—she needed to make an appointment to get the positive confirmed. Then she could think about what she wanted, and talk to them about what they wanted. She tried to tell herself it was no use thinking about it yet, but her mind still raced, her thoughts flying into a mess of happiness and apprehension, of good outcomes and disappointed ones. She tried to imagine what Carlton and Shawn would say when she told them (if she had to tell them), what her parents would say, how in any number of ways they might try to make it work.

Together, obviously. It could be done, she was certain of that. They could do anything they wanted, as long as they were together. Would they want to? And right now? Did she want to? She thought so, but there were so many variables, so much to consider—like what had happened to her nephew, for one. She didn't think she could handle going through what her brother and his wife had, even if she had Shawn and Carlton, and she didn't think they could do it either. That was going to be a factor. So many factors.

Juliet went out of the bathroom and into the living room, sitting down on the sofa and picking up one of Carlton's yellow legal pads that he used for lists—a list was just what she needed. Things to do before things to think, at least this time. First she had to have the possible pregnancy confirmed, that was big step number one, because if she wasn't, the rest was moot, at least for now. She added an asterisk after 'call clinic for appointment', so that she would remember to consider this possibility even if both of the home kit tests she'd done were false positives, so that they could discuss what they might want later. 

Her next two steps were so obvious that she almost abandoned the list, but the act of writing and having it in print was making her feel more collected and organized. Procedure was the word of the day. Step two: think about what she wanted, and thought they should do. Step three: Talk to Shawn and Carlton about what they wanted and thought they should do. Yes. Good. 

She nodded to herself and picked up her phone to begin step one, hoping that she could get in very soon, because it was going to kill her to not say anything to either of them yet. Carlton was working a big case at the moment and couldn't afford to be distracted by the uncertainty, and Shawn would do anything from become mildly antsy and annoying to buying eighteen more home kits and making her pee on every one of them to survey the results. Fifteen minutes later, she had an appointment for the very next day, and she apologized to both Shawn and Carlton in her head while she bundled away the trash in the bathroom just in case her sharp-eyed detectives would notice either the tests or the boxes or _something_ before she was able to find out for sure.

When her men got home, Juliet found herself staring at them so constantly that she actually thanked her lucky stars that Carlton was distracted himself due to a pair of murder suspects eluding arrest, and that Shawn was easy to distract himself (she may have gone to the bakery and the 7-11 just before he arrived, and she may also have called Gus and invited him to dinner—he and Shawn argued for half an hour over who had rights over the biggest, most-iced cupcake, and then they bugged Carlton for an hour until he relented and told them about his case, which interested Gus because the suspects were twins that were nuns, and which interested Shawn because Carlton told him that he was only sixty-eight percent sure both of them actually were nuns). Juliet watched their animated conversation between bites of chicken tetrazzini that she barely tasted, imagining a little boy with Carlton's dark hair and ice blue eyes, or a little girl with her blond hair and Shawn's charming grin. 

While Shawn suggested that maybe there was only one woman who portrayed not only twins, but _nun_ twins, and Carlton gave him a dubious look, Gus commented to Juliet that she looked happy, and she smiled at him. “This is just _really_ good,” she said, and crammed a huge bite of chicken and noodles into her mouth.

Gus looked down and remembered that his own plate was still half full. “I hear that,” he said.

The next day, Juliet sat in a small exam room and watched a nurse practitioner pull a white sheet from a folder with her name on it. She glanced at the results of her blood test shortly, and then looked up with a carefully neutral expression. “Your test is positive, Ms. O'Hara,” she said. “You're pregnant.”

With those words, and with two of her own, her heart knew everything she felt and wanted. “Thank you,” she said, smiling and feeling tears in her eyes. Yes. _Good_. She hoped.


	20. A Long, Slow Accident

  
_Stop getting me off track—I mean it, there's a problem here_  
 _This time it is for real, how can I make myself more clear?_  
—OK Go, “[There's A Fire](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WSfAtpayCh4)”

  
When she told them, she didn't exactly expect jumping up and down; she knew that she was likely to get a double dose of blank stares for at least a couple of seconds, along with some glancing around to judge everyone else's reactions. There would be questions, mostly about what she—and they, as a unit—wanted to do. She knew what she wanted now, and she was fairly certain what Carlton would want to do. Shawn had never said much seriously one way or the other, and he would need to grow up quite a lot... but he was good with kids when he wanted to be, he was goofy and caring and sweet, and with herself and Carlton, she thought they could make it work if they wanted to. It wasn't planned by any means, and that might be a deciding factor... but if that wasn't what they collectively agreed on, they could decide to try again later, when they were more ready.

When she told them, it went almost exactly like she'd envisioned—at first. Shawn and Carlton both looked at her like they hadn't heard what she'd said, even though the TV was off and the rest of their apartment was quiet. Then she smiled, and they realized that they had indeed heard, and correctly... and that was where things started to differ. Shawn blinked, and his eyes slid over to Carlton very quickly, and then he wet his lips but didn't say anything. Carlton hadn't taken his eyes from hers, and when she realized she could see them getting brighter, she couldn't help but to smile wider at him. 

“Pregnant,” he repeated, looking slightly dazed.

“Whoa,” Shawn said softly. 

Juliet nodded, still grinning. “Yes—I got the two positives on the home kits so I went in for a blood test, which was confirmed.” She paused. “I know this baby wasn't planned, but...” She looked between them both. “I'd like to keep it. I don't know how we're going to make that work, but I think we can figure it out, if we want to.” 

“'Fate be damned' has been the party line from the start, hasn't it?” Carlton said. “I've always wanted children. After my wife—my _ex_ -wife, I'm sorry—left, and then when I joined you two, I didn't know if it would ever really happen. I would have been okay with that, because what I wanted more than anything was you two.” His eyes dropped to her stomach and he started to smile. “But now...”

She couldn't stop smiling wider; this was really happening. All of the crap they'd been through so far, but all of the good too, so much good, with each other, and coming together, and progressing, and becoming closer, and working, and fitting. One more piece to make them a complete family. “I've _always_ wanted kids,” she said, and laid a hand over her stomach. “I know it's going to take some figuring out, but—do we agree? We're keeping the baby?”

“I would love that,” Carlton said.

Juliet looked at Shawn, who had been very quiet, and noticed that his face was still solemn. He had been gazing at the floor, and at the sudden lull in the conversation, he glanced up and saw them both studying him. He let out his breath and then nodded. “Okay,” he said. “If that's what you guys want. I mean—talk about a surprise, I really didn't expect—” He stopped and shrugged.

She was suddenly worried—it wasn't just that he was surprised, and it wasn't just that he didn't sound thrilled. He looked very unsure, and this wasn't the sort of thing she wanted to go on without being all in. “Shawn?” she said carefully. “Do you not want to? You need to say so now if you don't, this isn't going to work if it isn't what we all want.”

“I want what you want,” he said, looking directly into her eyes. 

She hesitated; she thought he was telling the truth, but there was still something on his face, perhaps the lack of happiness. She knew that not all men were instantly ecstatic to know they were going to be parents and had to grow used to the idea, especially those that still behaved like children, and that was definitely Shawn. He was so many contradictions, and one of them was that he was almost always up for new things, to try anything, but that he didn't always adapt to huge, life-changing events very well when they negatively altered his freedom, which he valued so highly. But it was going to be much different, having a baby with the three of them versus just herself and Shawn, as they were two years ago—Carlton loved kids, even if he could be awkward with them (that was mostly a lack of experience, she thought), and she was great with them. The extra adult around would give Shawn more freedom than he would have had otherwise as well. It was another reason why they fit so well together; Shawn never once felt trapped or tied down by either Juliet or Carlton, because they had each other to turn to when he was off with Gus or doing any number of other random things. When they wanted him, he would be there, and when he wanted to do whatever he felt like, he almost always could, and without a word from the others. That would change a little with an impending child, but the demand on him would be much less with three of them to share the work, with two others to rely on instead of just one; there would also be that much more love to share between them. 

“Okay,” she said. “We have time to talk about how we're going to make things work.” She paused. “Now, I don't want to worry either of you, but right now I'm considering amniocentesis. I'd rather not have to have it, because there's a chance of complications, including miscarriage. But if it's necessary, we may need to check for cystic fibrosis; I'm a carrier.” She had to pause again, because the memory of her brother's tiny son in the hospital bed was still so painful. “My family lost one of my nephews a couple of years ago.”

“I remember that,” Carlton said, frowning. “You took leave for two weeks to help with the other boys.”

“And to be there for my brother and his wife.” She nodded. “After he died, those of us still hoping to have children some day were tested to see if we had the gene, and I do. It's not a pretty disease, and while advances are always being made, it's... if the tests are necessary, and they're positive, we all could talk about another baby at a different time. Like when we're a little more prepared.” She tried to smile again.

“If the tests are necessary?” Carlton asked.

“Unfortunately, there are more carriers of the gene for cystic fibrosis among people of northern European descent, and you're Irish,” she said. “If you're the father, I'd be more inclined to have the test than if it was Shawn. I think there's an equal chance it's either of you, though.” She looked at Shawn. “Do you know where your family's from?”

“I dunno, here?” He shrugged. “I think there's German on my dad's side.”

“I'm not aware of any way to determine paternity other than a blood test,” Carlton said. “If you're that worried, you should just have the test for the disease that you're carrying.”

She nodded. “Yeah, it'll probably come down to that. I was just hoping it wasn't absolute—it doesn’t happen often that amnio results in miscarriage, but it did for one of my cousins.”

“Have the test, Jules,” Shawn said quietly. “I mean... that way you'll know for sure.”

She looked at him, surprised at his tone and worried again and how he still hadn't smiled, that he looked so grave. “What's wrong, Shawn?”

“Nothing.”

Now they were both looking at him, both frowning, both recognizing his stillness as worrisome. “Seriously,” Carlton said. “What is it? If you're having a problem with having to grow up for real now—”

“No, no.” Shawn shrugged and flipped up a hand, clearly trying to display indifference. “I just—if she's worried the kid might have the disease, she might as well test for it, especially since she's a carrier and there's more of a chance you also have the gene than me.” He glanced at Juliet quickly and then shrugged again. “If you really need to know, and you'd rather not have that test unless it's super-necessary... it's his.”

“I've had sex with both of you many times in the last month,” she said slowly, watching him. “There's no possible way you could know whose it is.”

“Yes there is,” Shawn said. His eyes darted between them and then he sighed, sitting back against the couch and putting one ankle across his opposite knee. “I can't have kids. I had a vasectomy in 2002.”

Juliet blinked at him, and then she could only stare as the realization of several things came at her at once. She felt stuck in time as she heard Carlton ask, “Why?” in disbelief, and all she could see were Shawn's solemn eyes looking back at her, knowing everything she was thinking. Knowing, and never having told her anyway. Letting her go on for this long, thinking—

“Because,” Shawn said softly. “I never wanted kids. I'm not good with them; I don't like them, and they don't like me. In 2002 I was seeing this girl in New Jersey... she had a kid by her last boyfriend, this little monster that mostly lived with his dad, but tore the shit out of her place on the weekends she had him. Threw glass things on the floor, screamed and flailed around when she tried to get him to eat, threw his head backwards and gave me a bloody nose the one time she tried to make me hang onto him while she put her dog away, because he kept trying to bite its tail, ripped its clothes off and turned green and destroyed Atlantic City, the whole deal. Then one day she told me she was pregnant, and it was mine.” He put both of his hands up and shook his head. “She turned out not to be, it was just her period being kerfluey or whatever, but it scared the living shit out of me, and that decided it. I had it done, a few weeks later I did the cup deposit twice to make sure I was firing blanks, and... that was it.” He shrugged. “Snip, clip, no more slip.”

She had to force herself to breathe normally, trying to will herself to stay calm. “You... you never told me that, Shawn.”

“It was way before I met you.”

“Yes,” she said, hearing how brittle her voice was now, but unable to help it. “Before you met me... before we were together... you decided to make yourself unable to have children. And you knew... you knew how much I wanted them.”

He sighed again, dropping his eyes to the shoe that rested on his leg. “I know. I'm sorry. I should have told you.”

“You should—” she started, and then closed her mouth, because the words _get out_ wanted to climb out, and although her heart was beating too fast and her thoughts were tumbling over and over each other like clothes in the dryer, part of her could see that he really meant it. He was sorry. Just like he was when he told her that he'd lied about being psychic. “What else do you need to tell me?” she snapped.

He looked up quickly, possibly surprised by her venomous tone, but she saw him hesitate. “Nothing.”

“Nothing,” she repeated, and when she looked at Carlton she saw that he was watching her carefully. “He doesn't have _any_ more secrets,” she told him. “I can trust him and believe in him. I know, because that's what he told me three years ago. That's when he told me to my face that lying about being psychic was the only time he ever lied to me, that he never would again.”

“I didn't lie!” Shawn said, looking wounded. “We didn't talk about us having kids, Jules.”

“You knew I wanted them! Just because we didn't discuss it specifically—”

“You also wanted to get married, and to be a detective forever, and to have a pug farm,” he said. “Plans change—our lives changed, we didn't go that way. I mean, we have—” He gestured to Carlton, and then he paused. “You're awful quiet, Lassy.”

Carlton looked at him, and then at Juliet. “I always wanted kids, and I'm happy,” he said softly. “But that's not currently the issue.”

“No,” she agreed, and glared at Shawn in lieu of throwing her glass of iced tea at him, or screaming. “You did lie to me. Again. Us never specifically talking about the production of children that were ours doesn't matter—you knew I wanted them, and you knew you couldn't have them, and you let me go on thinking that one day it would happen. Do you even know how happy I was when the first test I got back was positive?”

“Yes,” he said. “I saw it in your eyes when you sat us down.”

“Well, I'm not happy now,” she said. “It's not enough that you didn't want kids, so much that you made it nearly impossible for you to have them. It's not enough that you probably don't even really want _this_ baby.”

“Jules—”

“Shut your lying trap!” she said, nearly shouting now. He flinched, but shut. Good. _Good_. “All this time. You lie like breathing, Shawn. I've stuck up for you for so long—with people around the department, with Carlton, when we first wanted him with us, and even with myself. I am _so tired_ of continually finding out that you're keeping things from me. That I don't really know who you are. That even though you know how important it is to me that I'm not lied to and led on, you, someone I _love_ , just _keep doing it_.”

During all of that he had hung his head, not looking at her but at a piece of his shoe that one finger was rubbing at, and when he looked up again, the hurt in his eyes made her want to stop, to hug him and say that she loved him anyway and that it was going to be okay... to smack him, because he had no right to feel that way, to make _her_ feel that way. He had that way about him, always had, and even if he wasn't _meaning_ to weasel out of something he'd done by the sad puppy eyes—if the guilt and remorse he was showing was honest—none of it gave him a free pass out of it, and she wasn't about to issue him one.

“You know who I am,” he said. “You know me better than anyone in the world.”

She shook her head. “Apparently I don't. I thought I could trust you, but I feel so stupid. I actually thought _I_ was someone you _didn't_ have to lie to. I thought that I could believe you, believe _in_ you, because you knew how important it was to me that I never had to question you when it counted. But that's not true. I don't know how much of anything you ever said to me is true anymore.”

“I'm sorry,” he said again. “I just—I thought if it came up later, kids, we could talk about, like... I don't know, adopting, or if you really wanted to, tadpoles from someone else's stream. You and Gus have the genetics for adorable babies, I think.”

She ignored that, knowing he was trying to deflect. “It's not that you can't have kids, Shawn. If you got a vasectomy before we were together, then it's moot. The point is that you lied to me by not telling me, by knowing what I wanted for us, and letting me go on for so long thinking that it was still possible, that all we had to do for our future was get started.” She could feel tears wanting to start pooling in her eyes and ignored them, too. “Now all I can think is that there could be so much else about you that I don't know, and I'll never know for sure. I thought... with us... I was able to trust you—you and Carlton—above all else. But I was wrong.”

“I'm sorry, Jules. I _really_ am,” he pleaded. “I was wrong not to tell you, I know that. I'd take it back if I could.”

“You can't.”

“I know, but I would, even... even if it meant you'd decide not to be with me, since I couldn't give you kids. I decided I didn't want anything to do with them way before I met you, and... if you're happy about being pregnant now, then I'm glad. Really. When you're happy, that's all I need to be happy, no matter what. Please don't be so mad... there's nothing else, I _promise_. I know it was a huge, huge fuckup to not tell you, and I know you're super pissed at me, but... I swear there's nothing else. And I'll never lie to you or keep anything from you ever again. That was the last thing, and the only reason I didn't bring it up after all this time is because I was already in so deep. I had no idea we could go this far—I didn't know how much I was going to want to be with you forever. And then I thought—there's other options, so...” He sighed again, still looking miserable, but she only looked at him, her jaw clenched. “We can figure this out, can't we?” he said, his voice nearly a whisper. “Juliet... I love you.”

“I know you do,” she said softly. “But I don't know... if I can trust you anymore. You told me before—you promised before—that there was nothing else you were keeping from me. I know that you remember telling me that. Promising me. Telling me that you _understood_ that I can't be happy with someone I can't completely trust.”

“Yes... but...”

She knew what she needed now, which was space, and time, and quiet, so that she could listen to her heart and figure out for sure what was going to happen next. She knew what she needed in order to get outside of this latest kick to her world, and she knew that she needed to say it as soon as she could, because right now she was still down, so far down, and she needed to let go and let out what was growing in the fissure in her heart before she could even try to get back up.

“Shawn,” she said quietly. She tried to look at him, but had to drop her eyes to his chest, looking through him, because the pain on his face as he realized what was coming was too much. “Get some clothes,” she said. “I can't deal with you right now. I can't—you need to get out." 

“What?” Shawn said, sounding wounded. “I—Jules, can't we talk about—”

“You had years to talk to me about this.” She put up her hands, hoping he would get it and just let her be, at least for now. “I need you to go be somewhere else for awhile right now. And don't call me.”

“But—please, sweetheart, don't do this. I can make it up to you, I can fix it! I'll do anything, just tell me what to do. Please, Jules, _please_ don't—just tell me. I'll do anything, I'm _so_ sorry, there is _nothing_ else.”

She shook her head, pressing her lips together and trying to hold back tears. “There isn't anything you can do. I'm so angry that you need to just get out, before I say something worse than that.”

There was absolute, complete silence for several long moments. Shawn didn't make a move to get up, and although she still couldn't look at his face, she could see that he'd stopped breathing. In the corner of her eye she saw Carlton close his eyes and lean his head back, taking in and letting out a very slow breath. She wanted to apologize to him—Shawn was his boyfriend too, and she was kicking him out of their home by herself—but she couldn't speak. She could only hope he understood.

.

Lassiter took a deep breath, and then he stood up to take control of the situation, as it was clear to him that both Juliet and Shawn were in fragile states at the moment. She had been serious when she'd said she said she couldn't be around him right now, and she'd been serious when she'd said she needed him to leave, so he thought the best move here would be to separate them for the time being and see to the fix later.

“Juliet,” he said quietly. “How—would you like me to run you a bath?” She looked at him and nodded, and he saw gratitude in her eyes as he held a hand out to her to help her stand. He pointed at Shawn, who was watching them with his mouth partly open, his eyes bright and glassy, but Lassiter kept his voice even, not accusatory or reprimanding. “Get some things together,” he directed. “After I get her settled, I'll drive you to Gus's for now.” 

He turned then, and gently led Juliet to the bathroom, moving her to sit on the closed toilet lid while he leaned over to open the taps and close the drain. He thought that she didn't likely have much of a particular desire to bathe at the moment, but he also thought that she would feel safe here, perhaps a little calmer, able to collect her thoughts and feel a little more in control. He adjusted the temperature and then spontaneously reached for her little container of pink salt stuff; unsure of how much was good to add, but knowing that she liked the smell, he dumped the whole thing in and swirled the water around to make it dissolve.

“Thank you, Carlton,” she whispered.

He sat on the edge of the tub and faced her, wanting to tell her that everything would be okay, but knowing that promising that at this juncture would be premature, and that the one thing she needed now above everything else was the truth, so he gave her the purest one he had. “I love you,” he said.

She managed to smile, although he could see that she was going to cry very soon. “I love you too.” She stood up and began undressing; after she'd stripped her top off, he opened his arms, and she stepped close enough for him to fold them around her middle. 

He held her for a moment, and then he looked up at her to make sure she was looking at him; she was, and he smiled and kissed her belly. The revelation Shawn had made, and the argument that had followed, had shaken him when it reached its conclusion, but it was separate from the brightness he felt rising inside him: she was pregnant with his baby, and he was happy. There was a possibility of something disastrous looming over the relationship between the three of them, but this one thing was still clear, and untainted, and perfect. He had always wanted kids, always a family that was truly his, and right now he felt as if he had always loved her.

In the bedroom, Lassiter found Shawn on the edge of the bed, a duffel bag at his feet and half of one drawer of his jeans and some boxer shorts tossed toward it. There was a pile of shirts, still with hangers in them, next to him on the sheet; he looked as if he'd gotten started on his task, and then the energy drained out of his legs and he sat to avoid falling. When he looked up at him, Lassiter saw that there were tears on his face.

Shawn wiped at his cheeks quickly. “So,” he said, his voice trembling slightly. “Do you hate me, too?”

“She doesn't hate you, Shawn.”

“Just me, then?” He nodded at the floor. “Good. I guess.” He let out a breath and swallowed hard, wiping his eyes again.

Lassiter didn't know what to do or say, being conflicted on whether or not to comfort him. One one hand, someone he loved a great deal was hurting, but on the other, that someone had brought it on himself in every way, including knowing that it would eventually happen due to his own actions and lack of actions. Seeing Shawn cry wasn't at all what he wanted, but at the same time Juliet was in the bathroom crying, and that was inexcusable. Lassiter opened another dresser drawer and gathered two handfuls of sock balls, and then he went over to the duffel bag and started loading everything in so that it could be zipped. He stood up to take the hangers out of the shirts to fold them, and when he saw Shawn looking at him as if he was being dismissed forever, the pain in his eyes magnified by his tears, Lassiter sighed and put a hand on his shoulder. Shawn threw both arms around his middle and squeezed him tight, pressing his face against his stomach hard. Lassiter let him hang on for awhile, until the worst of his shakes subsided, and then he stepped to the side; Shawn let him go and silently watched him make quick work of the pile of shirts, zipping up the duffel bag and hoisting it to the bed when it was ready.

“Did you call Gus?” Lassiter asked softly.

Shawn shook his head. “I'll text him on the way. I know where his key is if he's not home.”

“All right. Anything else you want to grab? Your iPod, your computer?”

He shook his head and stood up. “Both of those are at the Psych office. Just let me get my phone charger and I'll be ready... I guess.”

While he did that, Lassiter tapped on the bathroom door and then opened it wide enough to stick his head in. Juliet was leaning back in the tub, mostly submerged in bubbles with a cloth over her eyes. “I'll be right back,” he said.

“Okay.” Her voice was very soft, but steady. “Hurry back.”

“Do you want anything?”

“You.”

“All right.” He closed the door and turned around to see Shawn holding the cat in his arms; Lassiter jerked his thumb toward the door and Shawn nodded, kissed the cat between the ears, and then set it on the floor before taking up the duffel bag of his clothes. 

They rode in near silence, the only sounds being traffic and two times Shawn's phone chimed with reply texts from Gus. He glanced at both but then simply put his phone away, leaning his head back against the seat and closing his eyes. When Lassiter pulled up in front of Gus's apartment and put the car into park, Shawn sat up again, but made no move to get out. Lassiter assumed he was trying to decide what to say or how to say it, so he waited, only slightly impatiently; Juliet was expecting him back, but Shawn was, clearly, never expecting to come back. 

“Lassy,” he said finally. “What do I do now? Is there even anything...?”

“She needs space,” he said calmly. “Right now, you give her that.”

“You said she doesn't hate me.”

“I wouldn't have said it if I didn't believe it.”

“Do you think she still loves me?” His voice was barely more than a whisper.

Yes, right now, but once she had more time to think about his betrayal, how he'd strung her hopes along? “I think,” he said, very slowly, “that's one of the things she needs time away from you to decide. Right now she's feeling a lot of things, and she needs some space to sort them all out.”

Shawn's shoulders slumped, and Lassiter knew too late that he'd given him the answer he was dreading. “Can you—when she's ready to hear it again, can you tell her I love her?”

“That's something you should tell her.”

“If she can ever look at me again, I will.” Shawn looked at him, his eyes pleading. “I love you too.”

Lassiter sighed and held an arm out to him. Shawn moved across the seat and hugged him tightly, and when he raised his head, preparing to move back, Lassiter cupped his cheek and kissed him. “This is temporary,” he said softly, and cursed himself for being unable to stoically handle him going like this, without any hope at all, even if there was no way to tell yet if it was justified.

“Everything's temporary,” Shawn said, and got out of the car. He got his duffel from the back, and Lassiter watched him until Gus opened his apartment door and then closed it behind him. 

Lassiter sighed again, closed his eyes for a moment, and then he put the car into drive and went back home without Shawn.  


  
_You've got a whole new story but you're bound to your invention like a ball and chain_  
 _And I watched you like a stunt show, hold my breath and here we go_  
 _How will you get yourself out of this one?_  
 _You stand by watching, and this is how your life is turning out_  
—Something For Kate, “[Stunt Show](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jSOwxryiHpc)”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I started writing this before I saw the Juliet-Finds-Out arc in season seven, so I was kind of pleased when I did see "Deez Nups" and "Right Turn or Left For Dead", and I found that her reaction in canon (to the discovery that she'd been lied to) was fairly on with what I'd thought it might be. (I haven't seen past that myself except for the series finale, though I know most of what happens.) Anyway... some of the talk here regarding genetics is not 100% accurate, though I did do a bit of research and then altered a few things/left out some stuff for the purposes of the story. And, as always, to be continued...


	21. This Sucks

**OCTOBER 2010**

  
Lassiter gave it a week before he originally decided he wanted to say something. Seven days during which Juliet had no contact with Shawn whatsoever, seven days that he spent waiting and watching and not knowing where to step next. It was clear to him that she wasn't ready to talk to or see Shawn yet, and after those first seven days, when he attempted to bring up the subject, it was immediately clear that she wasn't ready to talk about him either. She was still roughly seventeen (by his count) kinds of emotional, although how many were directly Shawn-related and how many were pregnancy-related he wasn't entirely sure, as she wouldn't discuss it.

(He'd tried to make a list, but got stuck when Juliet became angry after throwing up one morning, declared that she was so far not much of a fan of the pregnancy train, rooted through the fridge for something to eat that wouldn't make her want to gag, and then threw half of a perfectly good pineapple into the trash. Perhaps his best course of action was no action, at least for now.)

He very much wanted to let her decide, of her own volition, when she was ready to figure out what was going to happen next, but after _another_ seven days of no Shawn (Gus came by when Juliet was at work to get a few more of his things; Lassiter had tried to ask him how Shawn was, but Gus had given him a disapproving look in response and invited him to come over and see for himself), he was getting more antsy about the future and whether or not anyone was going to do anything. 

Juliet still loved Shawn, he was sure of that (or... nearly sure... he hadn't ever seen her this angry, but he'd also not known many women to get this angry unless they'd been severely hurt by someone they loved), but she'd been lied to by her father and had cut him out of her life. Shawn had taken her at her word and not attempted to even text or email her, and judging from the look he'd gotten from Gus, Lassiter assumed he was achieving championship levels of mope.

When two weeks had gone by, it became very clear that if anyone was going to do any damage control and try to fix this situation, it was going to have to be him. The problem was that he still didn't know what to do; he didn't want Juliet to feel betrayed if he visited Shawn, just in case she would think he was taking his side, but after this long he was sure Shawn would be more than certain that neither of them wanted him anymore. He tried to ask Juliet again about her thoughts on the situation, and she just shook her head and said she didn't know. He thought she did—although she was still angry and was going to have trust issues for awhile, she still loved Shawn, missed him, wanted him to come home. Wanted things to be better, although how that was to happen was still a complete mystery. 

Lassiter decided that the solution was apparently going to mostly be up to Shawn to take charge and set it right—but it was going to equally be up to him to get him going, otherwise things were likely going to continue to stagnate until Juliet was the one to make the first move. She'd made the last move, correct, and Shawn was waiting for her to move again... but sometimes part of being kicked to the doghouse wasn't just waiting for the door to open again. Sometimes one had to grovel for it, and sometimes that was right. 

Sometimes. And in this case, if Shawn did nothing but wait, it might be weeks or even months before Juliet's fury cooled, because every time she was reminded of her pregnancy, she was reminded of his lie. Lassiter didn't want to be without Shawn for that long, and he didn't want there to be the chance that along with her anger, her love for him might cool as well. He hated emotions, and he hated being stuck in the middle of them. What a bunch of crap.

He waited a couple more days, until Saturday; he had the day off, Juliet didn't work weekends, and he was fairly certain Psych didn't have any clients at the moment (they certainly didn't have a case with the PD—although Lassiter wouldn't have objected to them being hired on, even to a case he was working, nothing had come up recently that gave the chief an inclination to call them). He woke up with Juliet in his arms, and although the apartment was slightly chilly and they were pressed together under a blanket, the bed felt too big and too cold with just the two of them in it. 

She opened her eyes just as he was looking at the place where Shawn's pillow used to be, and although she started to smile, she saw something on his face, turned to look, realized what he was seeing (not seeing), and then she turned back into his chest quickly. Before he could say anything, although he wasn't sure what it might have been, she started kissing him in a way that said she needed him to hold on to her, and so he did. That was the easy part. It always was. 

After she was in the shower, he went through his morning routine quickly, and then left her a note on the table that he was going out for awhile. He was pretty sure she would know why, but he left a note instead of shouting it to her over the shower because although he felt like two weeks was long enough, she still might not, and he didn't want to give her the chance to frown at him for going, or to ask him to stay and spend the day with her instead, because he would have. But it had been a long two weeks, and part of him knew that it wouldn't take much to go on not talking and just waiting, and then it would be two months. In roughly seven months, something great was going to happen... but how great would the journey there really be if this was still hanging over them? No, this needed to be fixed, and the sooner the better. This weekend. He could easily dole out a kick in the ass before kisses. 

He arrived at Guster's apartment and knocked firmly. A few seconds later the door was opened; Shawn's expression was closed, like he'd been expecting someone he'd tell to go away, and when he saw who it was he grinned and stepped back. “Lassy! Hi! I didn't know you were gonna—here, come in.”

Lassiter blinked and hesitated, just for a second, taking in how tired Shawn looked (his eyes had that hollowed-out look he got sometimes when he wasn't sleeping well or at all), that his hair was messy, that he looked a little thinner. Not something Lassiter would normally have noticed on a man, but he had gotten to know this man's body very well, after all, and could spot the difference at once. If Shawn wasn't eating much, or had drastically cut down on his snacking, likely due to an apathetic lack of interest, that too said something about his mood. 

As Lassiter entered Gus's apartment, he mentally selected what he'd come up with as his third option to jump-start things back to where they were. He didn't get a chance to even get started, however; as soon as he closed the door behind him, Shawn pressed against him, pushing his back against the door and trying to stick his tongue down his throat. Lassiter jerked his face away, almost hitting the back of his head on the door, but Shawn wasn't deterred—instead, he nuzzled his face into Lassiter's neck and attached his lips there, wrapping his arms around him.

“Shawn,” he tried.

“Shh,” he mumbled.

Lassiter didn't want to, not really, but he put both hands on Shawn's shoulders and firmly pushed him away enough to try to force eye contact. “I need to talk to you,” he said slowly.

“So talk,” Shawn said, not looking at his face. “I'm listening.”

Lassiter frowned a little and stood up straighter, wanting to move away from the door, but then Shawn dropped to his knees and his quick hands had the buckle of his belt undone in what seemed like less than a second. “Hey. Hey! _Shawn_!” He grabbed for his hands to make him stop, but Shawn twisted his fingers away; Lassiter gripped his wrists, but when Shawn laid both palms on his lower belly and finally looked up at him, the longing expression on his face was very clear, and Lassiter hesitated.

“Lassy,” he said, and shook his head slightly. “Just—just let me, okay? I missed you. I love you.”

Lassiter let out a slow breath—this was _not_ what he'd come for. “Where's Gus?” he asked.

“Gone,” Shawn said.

“Is he coming back?”

“Later.”

Shawn hadn't moved his hands, but Lassiter's belt still hung open and the traitorous front of his trousers was rising. He just looked down at him, weighing what might happen if he caved versus the further hurt he would cause by refusing. Shawn stayed exactly where he was and waited to be told what to do, a position he almost never held except when he was submissive, or fragile, or both. His eyes were pleading, and Lassiter gave in. He let go of Shawn's wrists and leaned against the door, wondering if he would go through with it when he noticed—there'd been no sign of her smell on his face because he'd washed and shaved before heading to Guster's place, but he'd only given his groin a cursory swabbing with his shaving towel and called it good. 

Shawn had his fly open and his dick out almost immediately, and it took just one more second for him to pause and glance up again. Lassiter looked back down at him steadily, and then Shawn gripped his dick with one hand and swallowed it almost to the base, closing his eyes as he sunk down and tasted Juliet on him. Lassiter closed his eyes and leaned his head back, and then he moaned softly when Shawn put his other hand on the back of his thigh to help ram his cock into his mouth. 

Shawn usually took his time when he sucked dick, starting with long, slow pulls that dragged his lips up and down while the soft, flat part of his tongue flicked and rubbed. He was very good at it, not only in the way he could make the man attached to the dick moan and shake and beg just by saying his name, but he actually enjoyed the act itself, sucking the hard cock into the back of his throat and humming in pleasure when he felt the whole works spasm and fill his mouth. Lassiter himself didn't mind it, had gotten to like doing it—or maybe that was just because it was Shawn's cock, and he could be vocal as all hell, which was gratifying—but Shawn loved doing it. It was almost always as much for him as it was for whomever he was blowing, and sometimes he didn't even seem to want the favor to be returned, at least not immediately, since he got such a trip on making somebody writhe and pant and tremble with the effort of holding back, holding on.

This time, however, he seemed to be aiming for none of that—he didn't start slow, he didn't lick up the underside and blow softly on the head before sucking it back into his mouth and going down sighing contentedly. He didn't cup his balls and squeeze them gently while very lightly dragging his teeth along the shaft; this time, he clearly had one goal only, and that was to make Lassiter come—no, to make him _explode_. In less than a minute he was nearly collapsed against the door, breathing hard and feeling it coming on fast like the lit end of a short fuse attached to a stick of dynamite. Shawn briefly let go of his thigh and grabbed his hand, slapping it to the back of his head, and Lassiter got the message: he gripped Shawn's hair and thrust into his mouth while pushing his neck down fast and hard, and Shawn made an “mmm” noise, gripping his leg again, his fingers digging in. 

When he swallowed around his cock, getting rid of some of the saliva that had built up in his mouth and renewing the suction, Lassiter barely managed to grunt his name before shoving his cock all the way into his throat and holding the back of his neck tightly as he came. Shawn tried to swallow, but he didn't make an attempt to pull away or to breathe and he started to choke, so Lassiter let him go and he sat back on his heels, letting his breath out in a big whoop. His lips and chin were wet—drenched—with both semen and saliva, but for a long moment he only looked up, panting. Then he licked his lips, realized there was more than a swipe of his tongue could take care of, and he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand before reaching forward and righting Lassiter's dick and trousers, even fastening his belt to its normal position and looking up, satisfied. He ventured a little smile, and Lassiter held a hand out to help him to his feet. 

When he stood, Shawn immediately put both arms around him again, though this time not as urgently, not grabbing onto him like a death grip—it was just a nice hug, and when he laid his head on his shoulder, Lassiter sighed softly and wrapped his own arms around him. He'd missed Shawn too, a lot, but he felt like saying it now would make it seem like he'd only missed his blowjobs, not the way he felt in his arms or the light in his eyes—a lack of which he'd noticed immediately when Guster's door had flown open.

“Lassy?” Shawn whispered.

His mouth was so close that Lassiter felt the nickname as a soft brush of air against his neck, and he turned his face slightly so that he could rest his cheek on Shawn's hair. “Hmm.”

Shawn hesitated, and Lassiter could feel him swallow again. “Did... you come here to tell me I'm out for good?”

He didn't want to let go of him, but he needed to look at him, needed Shawn to see his face. He moved him back enough so that he could reach down and tip his chin up, waiting until their eyes met. “No,” he said firmly. “That is not why I came here. I'm here because I want you to come home.”

Shawn took a deep breath and nodded, and then took Lassiter's hand in both of his, kissed his palm, and pressed his cheek into the cup, all while never breaking his gaze. Lassiter sighed and held his face, gently stroked his cheek with his thumb, and kissed the other side of his face. 

“We need to talk about Juliet,” he said after a moment.

Shawn nodded again, and then he finally looked away and stepped back. “Drink?” he asked the door. “All Gus has is skim milk and real juice—he didn't even spring for Sunny Delicious—but I got a six pack last night and there's two or three left.”

“Sure.” He didn't really want one, but he knew Shawn well enough to know that he needed a few seconds to regain his composure. Lassiter sat in the armchair while Shawn went through a doorway, and a minute or so later he returned with two beers, already opened.

He handed one over and then sat on the sofa, staring at the label. “How is she?” he asked.

“Physically, she's nauseous a lot of the time.” He paused. “She went to the doctor last week. They estimated that she was six weeks along, making it seven now. So far, everything looks good. She has her amniocentesis scheduled.” He watched Shawn carefully, but all he did was continue to check out the label on his bottle and nod. “Emotionally... I don't know,” he went on. “She's still very upset.”

“Like... never wants to see me again, upset?”

“I don't think so. She's just... well, she won't talk about it. About you.”

Shawn sighed and his shoulders slumped. “That's not a good sign,” he muttered.

“Well, you really hurt her. You know how she feels about being lied to. It's not just the anger at you, and the betrayal she feels—she's also angry at herself for trusting you, for believing you after you lied once. It's going to take some doing before she can trust you again.”

“Great.”

Lassiter scowled—he hadn't come here with the intention of making Shawn feel better about what he'd done, but the urge to do so was coming up on him. He couldn't tell whether that was just the way Shawn was, or if it was how much he loved the stupid twerp and didn't like seeing him dejected. “You need to talk to her,” he said at last. “ _You_ have to fix this.”

“She doesn't want me to. I know she doesn't.”

“Stop being a spoiled brat, you're acting like a kid.”

“How many kids do you know that have girlfriend problems _because_ of kids?”

“It's not because of kids, and you know it—it's because you lied to her. You knew the whole time that she wanted children, and you also knew the whole time that you'd taken steps to make sure you couldn't have them. That's something you should have discussed with her in the beginning.”

“Why, so she could decide she didn't want to be with me?”

Lassiter rolled his eyes. “No, because it's solely up to you to dictate whether or not she gets what she wants out of life and her relationships.”

Shawn scowled at him. “I never said—”

“You didn't have to say it verbally, Shawn. You were saying it by not telling her you didn't ever plan to have children with her. Look, I know why you didn't, but that doesn't excuse it. She always wanted kids, and she never danced around with it—she just assumed one day it would happen. When she decided to be with you seriously, she had no reason to think you wouldn't eventually at least talk about it. She was on birth control when it was just the two of you, so it had nothing to do with simply not wanting a paternity disaster when you introduced others. She wanted kids with _you_. You knew she was taking contraceptives, and I've heard her mention children a couple of times in your presence. You knew you didn't want it to happen, you knew you made sure it wouldn't happen, and you just let her go on. Do you seriously not understand why she feels cheated and lied to?”

Shawn sighed and closed his eyes, letting his head fall back until it rested against the back of Gus's sofa. “No, Lassy, I get it. I fucked up. Majorly. I know I'm a piece of crap that could never give her what she wanted. I was selfish and loved her and didn't want to give her the chance to leave me if I told her.”

“That was very selfish,” Lassiter agreed. “You had no right to keep that from her, to keep her in a relationship that was inevitably going to break her heart.”

Shawn threw his arms in the air. “I know!” he shouted. “I'm an asshole, okay? _I know_. What am I supposed to do about it? Go back in time and not have it done? Try to get it reversed? Go back in time and tell her? Excuse me if the last few years have been the happiest of my life, even if—even if it's over now, whatever.” He folded his arms across his chest and looked away.

Lassiter sighed. “No one said it was over.”

“She told me to get out,” Shawn said flatly. 

“She's angry, and she has every reason to be, but that doesn't mean she's going to decide you can never come back. It's called the doghouse.”

“So what am I supposed to do, then? She said to leave, I left; she said not to call her, I haven't. I'm trying to do what she wants, but I don't know what else there is.” He closed his eyes again and rubbed at his forehead. “I love her, and I'm sorry. I'll do anything. I know it's not as simple as that, but _I don't know_ —” He spread his hands and then dropped them.

Lassiter nodded tiredly. It was quiet for a long moment, the only sounds some birds outside, a car door opening and closing in the parking lot, and Guster's refrigerator kicking on. “You need to talk to her,” he said again, trying to be gentle.

“She doesn't want to see me.”

“Try. It's been two weeks.”

Shawn shook his head. “That's not long enough. When I told her I'd lied about being psychic she didn't talk to me for a week, and this is _way_ worse. I know she's still puking-on-my-head mad.”

“Well, yes, but some of that is the morning sickness.”

There was a pause, and then Shawn mumbled at the floor, “She's got her baby after all. You could give her that. She doesn't need me and doesn't want me.”

“That's not the point at all,” Lassiter snapped. “Stop feeling sorry for yourself.”

“I'm not,” Shawn said. “I'm just trying to make my peace with it.”

“You are.” Lassiter watched him stare at the floor for another long moment, and then he stood up and put his hands on his hips. “Fine. Wallow a little longer. When Gus is sick of it and you're ready to be a man, _come home_ and talk to her so you can figure out what you need to do to make it right.”

“How am I supposed to do that when she won't see me?”

“She told you not to call her, not to never try to fix it.”

“That says pretty clearly to me that I'm not supposed to try.”

Lassiter glared at him. “ _I'm_ telling you to try,” he said. “Women—especially hurt and pissed off women—don't have to make sense. There is only one way you're going to get started making it up to her, and that way isn't moping around here.”

Shawn looked up at him finally. “How? I just... Lassy, what if I try to come back and all that does is make her decide she really is done with me?”

He sighed, unable to say anything for a moment because, unfortunately, that was a valid concern, and he had no idea where to go from there if that was the case. The refrigerator clicked off, a car cruising up the street honked, another car door slammed and an engine started, a dog barked, and Shawn was clearly not coming back with him, at least not yet. “The only thing you can do is try,” he said again, very quietly. “Just... try, Shawn. None of us are happy right now. Anger aside, she misses you. I miss you.”

“I'm sorry,” Shawn said. “This sucks for you too, I get it. But you're taking care of her, which is the best thing right now. I just... if I just knew that it was okay with her that I come talk to her... see her...” He raised his eyebrows a little, pleading.

Lassiter shook his head. “I'm not going to be messenger boy for you. You fucked up, you fix it. It has to be you.”

Shawn dropped his eyes again and leaned forward, planting an elbow on one knee and his forehead in his hand. “I'll try,” he said quietly, and Lassiter knew he meant that was going to attempt to get his nerve up to come back, not that he was promising to come home and make his case for forgiveness. That was a step, a least.

“Good,” he said calmly. He hesitated, and then he went over to Shawn and put a hand on his head. “We'll be waiting.” Shawn didn't respond, so after a minute Lassiter sighed again and left Guster's apartment. 

When he got home, Juliet looked at him but said nothing, and when he only looked back, unsure what to say or what she wanted to hear, she suddenly grabbed for the TV remote and turned it on, loud. It was better than the silence.


	22. Catch Me If You Can

  
_Allow me to exaggerate a memory or two, where summer's lasted longer than—longer than we do_  
 _When nothing really mattered except for me to be with you... but in time we all forgot and we all grew_  
 _Your melody sounds as sweet as the first time it was sung, with a little bit more character for show_  
 _And by the time your father's heard of all the wrong you've done_  
 _Then I'm putting out the lantern, find your own way back home_  
—Panic At The Disco, “[Folkin' Around](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oCwNftUcSEs)”

  
Shawn was asleep on Gus's sofa when the knocking started. At first he assumed it was Death coming to release his mind, which still whirled even as he slept (sometimes worse—he'd always had vivid dreams, in the last two weeks they ranged from disquieting to outright nightmares that had him awake and playing Gus's XBOX at four o'clock in the morning), and then he figured it was just a woodpecker. He had a moment of foggy grey disconnect, his brain somewhere between sleep and alertness, when he both smirked to himself over the word 'woodpecker' and thought he was getting up to put on a Judas Priest record album. That finally woke him entirely—Judas Priest? And who actually still had a record player?

Tapping, tapping at his chamber door. “Quoth me, fuckoff,” he muttered, throwing his arm over his eyes. It was bright and he hadn't slept well, again, not like he had ever since Jules had asked him to GTFO. He'd slept almost zilch in the last two days, ever since Lassy had come over to talk and to tell him—

Shawn suddenly vaulted to his feet, going to the door fast, because what if it was Lassy again? It had been silent for the last few seconds, and although he was pretty sure it wasn't (Lassiter's knock was heavy-handed and firm, an 'open up for the police' knock if there ever was one, and even though he'd just been waking up, he thought the one he'd just been hearing was almost hesitant), he could think of no one else that would pop by Gus's in the middle of the day. He threw the door open, _almost_ smiling in hope... which was good, because it was just his dad. He sighed. 

“Good to see you too,” Henry said after a moment, his hands deep in his khaki pockets.

Shawn frowned. “How'd you know I was here?”

“You haven't been answering your phone.” Henry squinted at him, probably taking in how scruffy he looked and how messy his clothes were. Shawn didn't care. “I went by your place,” his dad went on. “I got about as far as 'Is Shawn—' and Juliet just about slammed the door in my face.” He paused, still giving the x-ray look. “So, she's mad. And you're here.”

Shawn shrugged, absolutely not wanting to talk about Jules or what had happened with just about anyone, let alone his father. “Apparently.”

There was a long silence. “You gonna let me in, or do I need to call and get Gus's written permission?”

Shawn rolled his eyes, but stepped back from the doorway. “Me and Gus are having major sleepover catchup time,” he said. “We got about six months to go since we stopped after junior high.”

“Uh huh.” Henry came in and closed the door, and then he folded his arms and regarded his son. “What's going on with Juliet?”

Shawn flopped back down on the sofa and shrugged. “I think she was looking for ideas to redecorate the bathroom, but there's only so many ways you can cheer up a shitter.”

“Why did she throw you out of the house, Shawn.”

“I refused to put the toilet seat down, so she's having them all bolted in place until I can work on my aim.”

Henry pressed his lips together and Shawn narrowed his eyes, knowing that look and not liking it. “I tried to go find you at your place two days ago,” he said. “That's when Juliet said you were here and almost broke my nose by swinging the front door into it.”

Shawn frowned, more suspicious now. “Did you get lost on the way over?”

“No, Shawn, I didn't, I came right over. And then I saw Lassiter leaving just after I got here.”

Shawn replied automatically, his sluggish brain trying to work ahead to what was going on and how to divert it, how to play the game. “I did, too. He really needs to work on his invisibility cloak.”

“Why was he here?”

“He was looking for Gus,” Shawn said. “He saw one of those 'ask your doctor' commercials and the rundown of side effects gave him the chilly willies. How can an allergy medicine reassure you of your quality of life when one of the warnings is 'incontinence'? The answer: Depends.”

“Shawn,” Henry said.

“Dad,” Shawn said.

Henry pointed to the line of windows near the door. “Those were open, kid.”

Shawn felt his whole midsection freeze with the implication, but he didn't let it show on his face. “Very good,” he said after a moment. “Sometimes you still astound me. How long did it take you to make detective, again?”

“Why did he say 'come home', Shawn?”

Shawn glared at him. “You know why, if you're looking for me here. Jules told me to get out. And it's none of your business why.”

“Oh, that's something else entirely.” Henry folded his arms again. “But I'm talking about language. ' _Come_ home.' Not ' _go_ home.' Why did he say it that way?”

“I don't know,” Shawn said, irritated. “Do I look like I'm the master of Lassiter's syntax? Why does it matter?”

“Because it makes it sound like your home and his home is the same place.”

“...so?”

“So? What am I supposed to get from that, Shawn?”

“I don't know, 'stop eavesdropping'?”

“Oh, Jesus—” Henry cut himself off and turned toward the wall before rounding on him again. “Is that what it means, then, Shawn? He lives with you and Juliet?”

“Yeah, Dad,” he said, rolling his eyes. “That's what it means. Multiple people occupy the same house. I know it must seem weird to you, since Mom moved out and you've been in yours alone. You might want to call the newspaper and tip them off to the story—for all you know, it's happening all over the country. Two college students to a dorm room in Seattle, roommates making rent together in Dallas. It's all the rage in New York, I hear.”

“ _Why_ is he living with you?”

“If you must know, his lease was up and we had room at our new place.”

“And why does he care whether or not you're at home?”

“I'm the only one that changes the toilet paper roll?”

“Are you...” Henry stopped, tried to laugh, and held a hand up. “Are you sleeping with him, Shawn? Is that why Juliet kicked you out?”

Shawn pressed his lips together, his hands squeezed into fists. “No.”

“'No' what, Shawn? No, you're not sleeping with him, or no, that's not why she kicked you out?”

“Don't worry about why she asked me to go, Dad! And maybe it's time you did.”

Henry shook his head, very slowly. “Jesus Christ, Shawn. I thought you were finally, _finally_ out of that when you met Juliet. Now you're—how could you do that to her?”

“Don't worry about what I'm doing,” Shawn said flatly.

“Apparently _someone_ needs to! What the hell is wrong with you? You find a beautiful, smart woman who can actually stand you, and, what, she's not enough for you? You can't control yourself, like an animal? Or is it that _other_ thing? You can't do anything in your life like a normal person, can you?”

“Who the hell started me out like that, Dad?” Shawn demanded. “Let's go back to my first day of second grade, shall we? Gus's mom gives him a hug and tells him to read a lot of books. Sammy Barnett's dad gives him a sack lunch and reminds him he can't eat peanut butter if anyone wants to trade at lunchtime. Jenny Sharp's mom tells her to practice writing her name in cursive and that her grandma is going to pick her up. And then there's little Shawn Spencer facing the wall with his eyes closed, while his dad asks him how many of the kids have Velcro shoes and how many have ties, not letting him have his lunch box until he can remember how many different grandkids are in pictures on the teacher's desk. _That's_ normal.”

“You sure as hell weren't complaining about it when you started your stupid _psychic_ business,” Henry shot back. “And you and I both know that's not what I'm talking about—teaching you how to see has nothing to do with you being unable to live like a normal guy and just be happy with a _girl_ friend.”

“There is _nothing wrong_ with not being straight!” Shawn snapped. “Lots of people aren't!”

“I don't give a three-day crap what other people are or aren't,” Henry said. “We're talking about you, and the way you can't ever keep a handle on _your_ life.”

Shawn fell back against the sofa again, rolling his eyes at the ceiling. “I am so fucking tired of having this argument with you, Dad. Every few years we come right back here. Not only is nothing I do good enough, the person I am isn't good enough, and I can't run my own life properly, and I'm sick of it.”

“Yeah, well, that makes two of us,” Henry said. “I'm surprised you lasted this long with Juliet, I really am. How long has she known?”

“How long has she known that I'm bi?” Shawn asked incredulously. “Since the beginning.” He almost told him that she was too, a little, but that was neither here nor there, and what Henry absolutely didn't need at the moment was more fuel for his fire. “She knew before I told her—soon after I met her, actually. Shockingly, it wasn't the end of the world. That's the thing about going both ways—I wanted her, I went that way.”

“But now you're right back going down that other path, and look where it's got you.”

“ _Oh my god_ ,” Shawn said. “Will you listen to _yourself_ , at least, since you won't listen to me? It's got _nothing_ to do with that. Repeat: me liking guys has nothing at all to do with why Jules needs space right now. _Noth-ing_.”

“So you're not sleeping with Lassiter?” Henry asked, doubtfully.

“Where are you even getting this correlation?”

“From you, kid. You won't answer.”

“It's none of your business.”

“You fucking up your life, again, is my business, Shawn. I'm the one that raised you, and I tried my damnedest to steer you right, to show you which decisions to make so you'd end up with a good life. But no, you have to go out of your way to be different and special and to have everything.”

“Yes, Dad, and your child-rearing totally paid off. That's why right now I have _nothing_.”

“Don't cheat on your girlfriend with another man, Shawn!”

“ _I didn't_!” Shawn shouted, at the tipping point of being so over all of this. “Jesus _Christ_. You hear Lassy say _one thing_ about _coming home_ and automatically assume _I'm_ sleeping with him, but apparently Jules is a _moron_ who wouldn't have noticed if that was going on right under her nose, since, hey, we're _all living together_.”

There was complete silence for several long moments while Shawn glared at his father and Henry looked back at him, first astonished, then incredulous, and then something that seemed to border between disgusted and angry. “Are you telling me,” he said, very slowly, “that you... and Juliet... _and_ Lassiter...”

“I'm not telling you anything,” Shawn said. “Except 'bye'.”

“Yeah, Shawn, I got it,” Henry said acidly. “That's what it is, isn't it? The three of you are—what are you calling it, 'the best of both worlds'? Since you can 'go both ways'?”

“I meant ' _goodbye_ ',” Shawn said. “As in, 'get out'.”

“There's an idea,” Henry said. “Since you apparently don't think you're doing anything wrong, how about you just have it all out, huh? Is Lassiter proud of himself for getting in between you two? I wonder what the department would think.”

Shawn could feel that ice pick in his stomach again, but this time, instead of feeling frozen, he felt as if he was no longer on anything solid at all. His memory had always been complete and perfect, and he didn't think he'd ever been as angry, or as frightened, as he was right then—what Henry was implying would have ramifications for Juliet as well, never minding what it would do to Lassy. 

Shawn took a deep breath, knowing that his father was watching him, gauging him and judging him. He needed to calm down, to get back into a rational frame of mind to speak, or everything—everything was going to be lost. “Dad,” he said, very slowly and quietly. “Leave. Lassiter. Alone.”

“You still call him by his last name, even though you're _that close_?” Henry scoffed. “Or are you just playing musical beds?”

“I'm serious.” Shawn looked at him levelly, putting as much conviction in his voice as he could. “Leave him alone. You want to crap all over me, fine, I'm used to it. You want to protect Jules, fine also, but you don't know what the hell you're talking about. You can't single _him_ out for anything, just because you know his job is more important than mine. He's doing the exact same thing me and Jules are, which all added up still equals none of your business.”

“He should know better,” Henry said. “He's a cop in line to be the chief of police.”

“Juliet was a cop too, what does that matter?”

“Yeah, Shawn, she _was_. And you two were fine—you were doing so good! That's what I don't get! Well, no, I don't get half of anything you've _ever_ done, but this? This takes _all_ the cake. Why? You just—you have a beautiful woman who can handle you and your crap, so instead of doing the right thing and marrying her, you convince her to let you double-up with the man you've had some weirdo crush on for four years?”

“That's not even what—nope, you know what, no.” Shawn put both of his hands up. “I am _not_ talking to you about this, or about anything. There's no way you'll ever understand, and you don't know half of what you think you do.”

“Tell me why,” Henry demanded again. “Why is she not enough for you? How long has this been going on? Since Lassiter moved back here? Is _that_ why you wanted to move into a bigger place? For the love of God, Shawn! Jesus! I should have known it was too good to be true that you were actually growing up and taking control of your life. But it's even worse than I thought. What was it you did to finally push Juliet over the edge, huh? Did you tell her she might as well move out, because you wanted to just live with a man?”

“I _love_ her!” Shawn snapped.

“Yeah? Do you 'love' him?” Henry made sarcastic air-quotes.

Shawn glared at him again. “Yes! I do!”

His father looked disgusted again. “So that's it, huh? That's what I said all along—you can't just be normal and happy with her, she's not enough. You told her you 'love' someone else and she told you to get out. Are you supposed to be deciding while you're here? You know, it really says something about you that you've been here this long and you still don't know what you want.”

“I know,” Shawn said, clenching his jaw. “That's not what it's about—what it's about is _still_ none of your business. And you are _still_ not listening to me. But fine, fuck it, whatever. Think what you want, I don't care. But you leave Lassy _alone_ and don't consider my life with my girlfriend and anyone else _any_ of your business. Or I swear to _God_ , Henry.”

“What, Shawn?” he challenged.

“I will never, _ever_ talk to you again. No matter what. If I'm dying in the hospital and you tried to see me, my last words would be to tell you to get the fuck out.”

“Why would I need to see you? You'd have your girlfriend and your _anyone else_ there.”

“Yeah. Right.” Shawn pointed to Gus's front door. “Go be disappointed in me and my life somewhere else. But I mean it—leave both of them alone or so help me.”

“You need all the help you can get, kid,” Henry said, and left. 

Shawn grabbed the beer bottle he'd been drinking from before he fell asleep a few hours ago and hurled it at the door, where it shattered. He then dropped back onto the sofa in lieu of falling onto the floor; he tried to curl his body around one of the throw pillows, gripping it tightly against his stomach, which was in jumping around in knots, and he closed his eyes tight, pressing his face against the back of the sofa until he couldn't see any more, until there was no light at all. He wanted so much darkness, so much nothing—it would match his heart as an ideal vacation spot. _Book the trip, Jeeves_ , he thought. _I'm falling, I'm going down._

.

Two days after going to Guster's apartment, Shawn still hadn't called, or texted, or emailed, or come back home. Lassiter was disappointed, to say the least, edging on frustrated and pissed off. He'd wanted to give Shawn time to come to it on his own, just as he was still trying to give Juliet time, but after seeing Shawn, and the more he watched Juliet, he was certain that the both of them were waiting for the other to make the first move. It was juvenile, although (slightly) understandable, with the exact set of circumstances they had. It was just getting harder and harder to not say anything, to not force them to fix it, before they drove him up the wall with her pointed sighs at Shawn's place on the couch or his place in their bed, and Shawn's complete lack of presence. He was more annoyed with him about it all, seeing as they'd had that talk just a couple of days ago, and Lassiter was of the opinion that he'd been crystal clear about what should happen next. He'd seen Shawn with his pants off, after all, and knew for a fact that he had balls, physically and metaphorically. So why was he—and his stupid balls—still at Gus's?

He was off work around four on Monday, about an hour before Juliet would be done with her shift at City Hall, and that decided him. He was going to be a parent within a year, and had no time to parent the two that were supposed to be the grown adults that he loved and (mostly) respected. If both of them needed to be moderately-to-firmly nudged, it was time. Even Juliet, who had made her own crystal clear point in that Shawn wasn't to contact her, but had neglected to give any sort of time frame or further instructions, e.g. 'until I call you first', or 'until you're ready to grow up and dispense with picking and choosing what you show of yourself to the family you're a part of'. Lassiter had plenty of experience dealing with difficult family members, but his endgame was always to simply cut them out and continue his own life, happy enough without them. However, he liked this family he—they—were building. He'd be damned if he wasn't going to try to keep them, maybe try harder than for anyone else he'd ever known. 

When he got to Guster's apartment and set his knuckles sharply to the door, he set a grim look on his face, one that said ' _you're coming home, you little shit, because we love you and that's it_ '. And indeed, that's all he had room for at the moment—at least until he heard Shawn's voice, calling that the door was open. Coming through the open window next to the door, he was clearly still in the living room, probably still on Guster's couch, but his voice sounded very far away, very small. 

He tried the knob and went inside, and sure enough, Shawn was lying on his back, one arm slung over his face. Lassiter looked around and made a face—the place was a sty, and almost all of it was surely Shawn's—some Hot Pocket wrappers, some beer bottles, a few game discs and boxes in a haphazard pile near the TV, dishes with half-congealed cereal on the end tables. He opened his mouth to start chastising him for leaving his crap all around his friend's place and not even cleaning up after himself, and then he remembered the look Gus had given him when he'd asked how Shawn was doing... it hadn't been a 'my friend is superb and I thank you for inquiring after his state of being' look—rather the opposite. If Gus, a man normally so neat and pressed his fingernail parings were uniform, hadn't been keeping after Shawn to pick up after himself, that said a lot about Shawn's mood and how Gus was responding to him. He stood near the sofa instead, hands on his hips, looking down at him and waiting.

After another moment, Shawn sighed; it was silent, but his chest rose and then fell. “Lassy,” he mumbled, without moving his arm.

“Shawn.”

“I fucked up everything.”

This time Lassiter sighed, and noisily, before sliding a plate with a petrified pizza crust over enough so that he could perch on the edge of the coffee table. “It's not that bad,” he said. “Come on. Get your stuff and come back with me.”

That caused Shawn to finally move his arm, and Lassiter could see that his eyes looked a little red, and very, very tired. “Right now?”

“Yup, right now. This has gone on long enough. Come on.” He reached over and patted Shawn's leg twice, briskly. “Hop to it. Juliet's going to be off work and home soon.”

Shawn blinked. “Did—? She say I could come home?”

Lassiter hesitated, and when Shawn saw it he closed his eyes and turned his face to the back of the couch again. “No, she didn't. But she wants you to.”

“No she doesn't.”

“Yes, she misses you. If you come back, she'll talk to you. That's the only way this is going to get straightened out. Not by continuing to hide here and acting like a sad sack.” Shawn didn't say anything or move, and Lassiter frowned, becoming more concerned by the minute. Shawn's behavior wasn't the same as a few days ago, when he was sullen and morose, clearly feeling sorry for himself. Now... he looked severely depressed. “Shawn,” he said again, this time much more gently. “Come on. I'm serious. Let's get your things and get you home. We both miss you.”

“I'm sorry, Lassy,” Shawn said, his voice quiet but dull. “I knew this was going to happen and I just put it off anyway. Kept putting it off, letting it get worse. She has no reason to trust me. I did promise her that I'd never lie again after she got so mad that she started to believe I was psychic, or that I was something.” His eyes flicked over. “You know I was thinking of it when I promised? That there was something else she didn't know, that I didn't know if I could ever tell her? I thought there were other options for kids if it was really that big a deal, and at the time I thought _that_ was actually the issue. There really is no more—I swear I got nothing else hidden, no other secrets, no other lies. But she's never going to completely trust me again, even if I do go home and try to talk about it. I saw that in her face.”

“People can get over being lied to—people can get over just about anything when they want to,” Lassiter argued. “I've been with her for the past two-and-a-half weeks, pretty much any time we're both not at work. She wants to get over it, or at least to move past it. She wants you to come home. She just... can't say it, because that would be too much like saying she's okay with what you did. She's not. But that doesn't mean she doesn't still love you and want you. I do, okay? So come on.”

He reached for Shawn's arm, but as soon as he touched him, he flinched. “Don't,” he said, hunching his shoulders and turning his body toward the back of the sofa as well as his face. “I really did fuck up everything, you don't even know.”

“What don't I know?”

Shawn didn't answer for a long moment. “You should go back,” he said finally. “You go be with her. You can take care of her better than I can. And it's your kid. You'll be better without me. Better family. Better without people constantly nosing around.”

Lassiter gripped his shoulder and made him turn onto his back again. “Stop it,” he said to Shawn's flat eyes, which were gazing at the ceiling. “Stop being dramatic, stop wallowing, and stop—stop _thinking_ like that. You know that's not how it is—that's not how we are.” He took a deep breath. “Shawn. Shawn, look at me.” He waited until those hazel eyes, usually so deep and clear but now shrouded, blank mirrors instead of bright and excited and _Shawn_ , finally slid over to his own. “Listen to me,” he said quietly, knowing that Shawn tended to hear him more clearly when he was solemn than when he was shouting. “I love you. And Juliet loves you. We are happy like that—like we still are. Nothing there has changed. We are like we are. We're three. And right now, we're missing you. You need. To come home.”

Now, finally, there was emotion on Shawn's face—he blinked, and pressed his lips together, shook his head slightly, rubbed his forearms lightly with his hands. Lassiter thought he was trying to hold back tears, and when he put a hand on his shoulder and felt him shaking, trembling very slightly right where he lay, he thought that was certain. Shawn seemed to be struggling with words, and at last he managed to whisper, “This is fucked up.”

“Maybe,” Lassiter allowed. “For the present, there does seem to be an amount of shit that went through a fan. But I'll help you clean it up, okay? Whatever it takes. You come home, and we're all going to fix it.”

Shawn put both hands over his face and scrubbed for a second, and then he looked up. “Lassy, she told me specifically—and if she didn't say—”

“I'm saying.”

“I don't want to push her. _If_ you're right and she's coming around, that could just make things worse again.”

“Shawn,” he said slowly. “I'm not putting up with another week of this, not another day. We're not complete without your stupid jokes and your pineapple everything and your arms and legs mixed up with ours.”

Shawn smiled then, just a little one. “I think you're doing fine, man.”

“You're wrong. Get up—you collect which crap is yours and I'll try to take this tornado down to an F1 before Guster gets back.” Lassiter stood and snatched up a pile of paper plates. 

Shawn sat up suddenly and took the garbage out of Lassiter's hands, tossing it back onto the table instead; when Lassiter tried to pull back, Shawn hung onto him. “I can do it,” he said softly. “I made the mess. This whole mess. I guess I'll start cleaning up what I can. You go home to Jules.”

Lassiter frowned, watching Shawn stare at his hands instead of his face. “And you'll meet us there?”

Shawn nodded. “She'll be home in about an hour. I need time to pick up all the trash here—Gus deserves better than this.” He looked up, and his eyes were so still. “And so do you guys.” He sighed and then nodded, a decision made. “A couple of hours, okay? I'm not ready yet.”

Lassiter sighed heavily, gently pulled his hands back from Shawn's, leaned forward, and kissed him on the forehead. “We'll be waiting for you,” he said. “I'm going to talk to her the second she gets home. You're going to need to grovel, there's no circumventing that, but it's going to be okay. We'll make it okay.”

He got up to go, and when he looked back just before making his exit, he saw that Shawn was looking at him, his expression so perfectly eloquent that Lassiter had no trouble reading it then, or understanding it later— _Who's lying now?_


	23. Flying With Broken Wings

When Juliet arrived home that early evening, her main priorities were getting out of her heels and her bra, followed by a light dinner (she was thinking half a turkey and avocado, maybe an apple with honey drizzled on the slices, or a small bowl of soup on the side), and then some mindless TV while Carlton rubbed her feet, leading into a good hour or so of sex. She'd had a moderately annoying day, and traffic had sucked, and she still couldn't get Shawn, or what had happened with him, out of the back of her mind, and she was more than ready to be distracted away from it all with comfort and food and someone she knew she could actually trust holding her.

She got inside the apartment and immediately slipped out of her heels, breathing a huge sigh of relief. Now just to get the tight material of her bra off her sensitive nipples; two months along with this baby and her body was going haywire part by part, the only thing she could stand to have touching her breasts in the last week or so had been Carlton's tongue. The thought of that made her shiver a little, and when she padded into the living room, heading for the bedroom to continue changing, she smiled when she saw Carlton in his armchair, apparently waiting for her. She paused when he looked up, not just due to the seriousness of his face, but because _Siddy_ was on his lap, curled up and purring, Carlton was absently rubbing one finger behind one of his ears. She honestly didn't know what to make of that—to her knowledge, it was the first time Carlton had ever touched the cat other than to nudge him off the bed, or off the sofa, or to grab him by the scruff of the neck and toss him off the kitchen table.

“I see you two have finally made friends,” she said carefully.

Carlton looked down contemplatively, and then he slid a hand underneath the small pile of black fur and tipped it up. “Go on and git,” he said softly, when Siddy looked up at him indignantly. “He just jumped up,” he said. “I'm going to have to pay extra at the cleaners' to get the hair off my suit.” Pause. “We need to have a talk.”

She frowned a little. “About?”

Carlton looked at her steadily, and she already knew before he replied. “About Shawn.”

She sighed and ran a hand through her hair. “I don't know if I—”

“Juliet, sit down.” A bare second later, he added, “Please. This is important.”

She saw that he meant it, and although she hadn't been exactly looking forward to this, she'd known it had to be coming. After all, it simply wasn't fair for him to be put in the middle, not like this. “I was just going to get changed,” she said. “Give me five minutes.” 

He nodded, and she continued to the bedroom, where she stopped at the foot of the bed, looking for a good long moment at the pillow Carlton had used last night, the one she'd used, and the space on the other side where Shawn should have been. Would have been, if he could only _stop his lying_. How many more second chances was she going to be required to give him? How many did she want to issue? She knew the answer... or thought she did... but it didn't make her feel any better, not yet. At least she had Carlton, who could always be counted on to keep Shawn in line when her reaches failed. That was part of what made them work together so well, checks and balances. The only reason they'd gotten out of balance was because Shawn had been holding onto that particular secret since before he'd even come back to California, and he was notoriously bad at checking himself (before wrecking himself). The only reason they were still out of balance was because she couldn't decide which held more weight: _I love him and he's telling the truth, I can see it, and it's different now because we're different now_ , or _How can I ever, ever be 100% sure that he'll never surprise me by breaking my heart like that again?_

Right now, those two were what balanced, splitting her heart quite evenly. _I love him and he's part of what makes us perfect_ and _I don't know if I can trust him completely, forever_. A second chance, a _second_ second chance, not to put too fine a point on it, could merely be a second chance to find out again, later, that he'd lied about something else. Liars lie until they're caught, she'd learned, and then, when they're caught, they back up and tell half the truth, or they just bulldoze on, lying more. When she'd been a cop, been a detective, she'd seen it firsthand, over and over again. Hell, her own father had taught her that as a child. Trusting a liar, especially more than once, _especially_ especially after being caught out or admitting to it, was tantamount to putting a Kick Me Hard sign on one's own back. 

But Shawn...

Shawn was different. He was separate from everyone else she'd ever known. No, he didn't have magic powers, but _part_ of him was almost magical. His charm, and his intelligence, and the way he could look and see and know. The light in his eyes, the way he moved his hands in all kinds of situations, the way he moved through life as if it parted curtains for him. There was no denying that he loved her, and that he regretted not telling her that he couldn't have children when she'd wanted them so badly. Carlton had tried to talk to her more than a week ago, had tried to tell her that while he didn't agree, he could understand why Shawn had kept it for so long, and although she'd shut him up with a cold stare, part of the reason she'd done it was that she'd known he was right, and the hurt and stupidity she felt was still too strong to admit anything else. Now, as she stripped off her blouse and the irritating bra, and then slipped on a loose tee and a light sweater, she decided that she could also understand. It didn't make her feel much better about whether or not he'd later decide that he could lie or keep things from her if he felt he had a good enough reason, but _this_ time... this _last_ time...

She stopped, frowning, and shook her head. That was what her mother had said—one last time, one last chance. Repeatedly. Each time her father had been sorry, he really had. And he had loved her mother, and he had loved Juliet and her brothers, he really had. So they'd forgiven him. Repeatedly. Her father had lied for personal gain, however, and Shawn... his personal gain by lying had been her continued obliviousness while she stayed with him, dreaming of a future with him he never even hinted that he couldn't provide. Not naturally, anyway... hadn't he said something about other options? So he'd lied by omission because at first he didn't think it was relevant, not knowing how long they'd be together. And then they were in love, they were perfect for each other, and he didn't want to chance losing her. Too soon he was in too deep. That seemed to happen to him a lot. _Three years_. He could have told her. He should have. 

That was how her mind had gone around and around for the last two weeks, and it was already starting to give her a headache again. Juliet sighed and went back into the living room, giving Carlton a small smile when she saw he'd set out a glass of iced tea for her. He seemed about to speak and she put up a hand. “I'm still mad,” she said softly. “If we'd only been together a few months, it probably would be different. And I think I do—I _can_ —understand, at least a little, his reasoning behind not telling me. But we all know that's not my main problem. If he could keep this from me for three years...” She shook her head. “I just don't know. I trusted him so much.”

Carlton nodded slowly. “Do you still love him?”

“Yes, but... that's not enough.”

“Did you believe him, when he said that was the last of it?”

“I... I don't know. I was so angry right then that I couldn't really think.”

He nodded again. “I've talked to him twice in the last week,” he said. “I believe him. For what it's worth, I absolutely believe that he loves you, that he's sorry, and that he understands what he's done to your feelings for him.”

She tried to smile. “How can he understand that? I don't even know.”

“He understands that the link you had between you two is broken, and that it isn't the sort of thing that repairs overnight. I believe that he's willing to do what it takes to fix it.” Carlton paused, watching her carefully. “The question is whether or not you're willing to allow the attempt. I suppose if we try, and it can't be fixed, then it can't.”

“And if it can't?”

“Then we go from there.”

“And where do we go from here?”

He hesitated. “I went to see him for the second time a couple of hours ago, before you were off work. I told him to get his stuff and to come home, so that we can all talk and... see what there is to see, decide what we want to do. He should be here almost any time.” He looked up and met her eyes. “Understanding that you're still angry, and that your trust has been broken... will you at least see him, talk to him? He's not doing well—he's depressed, and it took some doing before I could convince him to come home before you explicitly said he could. If you want him to go back to Gus's, I'm sure he will...”

She sighed heavily. “Okay,” she said. “I'll talk to him. I'm not... I'm not happy right now either.”

Carlton got up from the chair and sat next to her on the sofa. He put an arm around her and she leaned into him, loving his smell, loving him, trusting him and his judgment. They waited for Shawn. 

Waited for Shawn. 

Waited.

It was after dark when someone finally knocked at the door. Juliet turned the TV off and swept her hair back, trying to brace herself. Carlton came back from the front door, not alone—but not with Shawn. With Gus. Gus was holding a sheet of paper in one hand, and when Juliet got a good look at his face, her breath died in her chest. “Gus...? What—?”

“I'm sorry,” he said. “I—I went to the Psych office after work to file the deposit slip from our last case, and... and when I went to leave, Shawn's dad was at my car. I don't know how he knows, but he knows—about you guys, how you're together, all living here and involved. He asked me if I knew, and I didn't know what to say, but he knew I knew, and he started yelling—you know how he is—about Shawn and how he can't control his life and that he's a screw-up, and he asked how I could let him go on like that.” Gus paused, looking a little indignant now. “Like there was a day in my life I could tell Shawn what to do and he'd listen if it wasn't what he already wanted. I never even thought about telling him he was getting in over his head with you two, because you're clearly what he wanted and what made him happy, and up until very recently it was actually working out pretty well. I tried telling Mr. Spencer that, but he said he got in a huge fight with Shawn about it, so I—I rushed home, because I thought Shawn would need me, but I...” He stopped again, his huge, wet eyes going back and forth between Juliet and Carlton, who were just staring at him, still unable to move or to breathe. “I was too late. He... I'm sorry, but...” He looked down at the paper he was holding, and then, very slowly, he lifted his head again, looked at them, shook it. “He's gone. Shawn, he...” Gus stopped again, this time clearly trying to hold back tears, and he gripped the paper hard with both hands.

Carlton moved first, taking one step and snatching the paper out of Gus's hands. “Give me that.”

Juliet still felt like she couldn't draw air, and she was starting to tremble all over, starting in her stomach and legs. The first thing she'd thought when Gus had come in, holding a ( _note_ ) sheet of paper and saying he was sorry, she pushed away, and hard, because ( _no no no_ ) that wasn't what his language was suggesting. She looked at Gus, whose entire body was slumped, his head down, and then she looked at Carlton, who was reading with his mouth slightly open, his eyes a little wide, his entire body still. 

“Gone?” Juliet managed, just barely a whisper. “What—what does that—”

Gus looked up quickly and realized what she wasn't saying, and he shook his head. “Left,” he clarified. “Ran away. He—his note there is a goodbye. When I got back to my place his bike was gone, and so was his backpack and some of his clothes. He left everything else, including his phone.” He dug in his pocket and held it out, where it lay on his palm like something dead. “You guys can have it. I don't know, maybe he'll call, or...” He slumped again. “I don't know. He just decided it was all too much and wasn't going to work out and it would be better if he was gone. It doesn't sound like... like he's coming back soon. I hope he does, I really, really do, but I have no idea at all where he might be going and no way to contact him.”

Juliet looked at Carlton, who was through reading the paper, and she saw him looking back at her, trying to speak but making no sounds. She held her hand out, her fingers trembling, and he slowly walked to the couch, sat down next to her, and let her have it. It was short but said so much, and before she got to the end she was crying, barely hearing Gus say that they could keep Shawn's letter if they wanted, but that if they didn't, he'd like it back. Carlton managed to say that they would keep it, and that they'd take the rest of his things he'd left at Gus's, his voice sounding strangled. Gus said that they could always call him if they needed him for anything, that he was sorry, that he was going to go. 

When he had, their apartment was completely silent except for Juliet's breath in between her stifled sobs. She was still shaking and she felt cold, her insides squeezed until there was nothing left but a huge, hollow place—the place Shawn used to live.

> _Gus—_
> 
> _I can't do this. Things have gone too far and got too fucked up to fix, and the name that tune segment is playing go back, which isn't an option anymore, or just go. It's shitty to leave you like this with the Psych office but there's nothing else I can do. It's shitty to just go without talking to you, or to them, but I can't. I've thought and I've thought until nothing makes any sense and I'm not sure that it ever did. They'll be ok with each other and their baby, it'll be so much easier and better to be a real family without me there just messing things up time after time. I never knew what I was doing when it counted, I just held on to what I wanted. Maybe there's a reason people don't usually live like this, or not for very long. I can't be three with them anymore. It's just too hard and none of us know what to do. I can do this, though. All of what's going bad is my fault, she can't trust me anymore, and including my dad knowing now, maybe making trouble for them, which I can't let happen. If I'm not here, not a part of it, he can't do anything to them._
> 
> _I don't know where I'm going, just that it's away, where I can't constantly fuck things up for everyone I love anymore. You're going to be more than ok, you're all going to be so good. I love you guys so much. So much._
> 
> _And I'm so sorry. For everything._
> 
> _I'll see you on the flip side buddy,  
>  —Shawn_

  
Juliet felt Carlton's hand on her arm and she grabbed for him, turned into his chest and buried herself in him, his strong arms squeezing her tight. She could feel him shaking as well, and after a minute she realized he was trying to speak again.

“I—I'm sorry, darling,” he managed, his voice creaky as he tried to keep holding on. “I thought... he said he was coming home. I thought I had him convinced. I told him I was going to talk to you and that we were going to make it okay. He said—I should have seen it, he was so despondent. I must have come just after Henry left.” He suddenly jerked, and his hands clenched into fists. “ _Henry_. Henry Fucking Spencer, ordering everything to his point of view. _Damn_ him. This is his fault.”

Juliet had pulled back slightly when Carlton became angry, and she wiped at her eyes while shaking her head. “It was Shawn's decision,” she said, sniffling a little. “He didn't have to do that. He could have—he could have come home with you. He didn't have to go. He didn't...” Her voice wavered and she didn't have the strength to stop it. “He didn't have to leave us.”

“This is _bullshit_ ,” Carlton shouted. “This—he—maybe we can find him.” He looked at her, his eyes wide and frightened and hopeful, but she saw in them that he already knew the answer to that. She didn't want to have to say it, so she just looked at him until he did. After a long moment, his shoulders slumped and he looked back down at the letter. “We won't be able to,” he said, his voice now flat. “He'll make sure of it—he left before Gus could talk him out of it, he left his phone, he left... everything. He really thinks we're better without him. How... how can he...” His voice wavered now and he gulped hard before leaning against the back of the couch and staring at the ceiling, his body shaking, trying not to cry himself. “Christ,” he said at last. “Fuck.”

Juliet leaned into him, pressing her face into his neck, and when his arm went around her and he held her tightly to him, she let go of everything.


	24. Christmas Presence

  
**DECEMBER 2010**

_Every time I think of you I always catch my breath_  
 _And I'm still standing here, and you're miles away_  
 _And I'm wondering why you left_  
 _And there's a storm that's raging through my frozen heart tonight..._  
—John Waite, “[Missing You](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S89AmJFP-j0)”

  
“Merry Christmas, 'tis the season to be jolly!” a far-too-cheery clerk at the 7-11 said, and Lassiter gave her such a venomous look that she glanced around nervously, probably looking for other convenience store patrons.

He snatched his change out of her hand and the plastic bag from the counter, stalking back out into the parking lot and thinking, _'tis the season to get fucking schnockered_. Of course, Juliet couldn't drink with him, but that hadn't been stopping him for the last two months, so fuck it. He almost went back into the mini-mart, thinking that his supplies of booze at home were either too low or going to be too low, but he knew he really had made the clerk anxious, and it wasn't her fault he hated just about the entire world for going on two months now. It was her fault for being a peppy little ray of goddamn sunshine, however, and he would rather brush his teeth with squid ink than experience that again, possibly forever. 

Liquor store, then; whiskey for him, and then a stop at a restaurant for Juliet, who had asked him to bring her something with grilled chicken. She was just starting to get a healthy appetite back, and although she was meticulous about taking her prenatal vitamins and consuming at least one protein shake a day, she had had trouble forcing herself to eat much in the way of solid food in the last months, and had dropped weight when Lassiter was fairly sure she was supposed to be gaining. She wasn't showing yet, but she was three months along, into her second trimester, and in the last two weeks she'd started asking for more food. He was trying like hell to make her his sole non-work priority, to only think of her and their baby and the good _good_ fact that they were still holding on, still holding each other, but then the reason for them to be gripping each other so tightly, to prevent flying off into a dark whirlpool, would resurface and he would be a solid mass of anger and depression and frustration and hopelessness and heartbreak.

Two months. No news. No Shawn.

Juliet had stopped crying every day after a couple of weeks, and she'd almost stopped entirely after a month, after he'd finally had the guts to say aloud that it was time they gathered all of his things up. They had both been shaking slightly as they packed up all of his DVDs, his clothes, his bathroom products, everything that even reminded them of him. Everything except one thing, and when Lassiter had tried to pick up Shawn's pillow, to take it off their bed and away from theirs, Juliet had snatched it from his hands and sobbed into it for almost ten minutes while he blinked away his own tears and told his heart to _calm the fuck down it's just a stupid pillow it's not like he's using it_ and that was the end of that. The pillow stayed where Shawn wasn't, and neither of them had touched it since. They put all of his things into the second bedroom's closet, not wanting it out of their home just in case... well, just in case. Although it was looking more and more like a final resting place every day.

It was Christmastime, would be the 25th in less than a week. Lassiter and Juliet were breathless, hopeful, almost hating themselves for it but unable to stop, unable to talk about it. They hadn't talked about _him_ in weeks. Hadn't felt whole in months. Their lives were so quiet it could be mistaken for mourning.

Or maybe... and that was the worse speculation... they were mistaking it for not mourning when it was. 

Lassiter went to the liquor store and got his bottle, stopped at a Burger King and picked up a couple of grilled chicken sandwiches for Juliet and a giant hamburger for himself. He grabbed a couple of orders of fries and onion rings as well, thinking that she would probably want some of each, and was glad again that she was eating at least three times a day now, sometimes snacking in the afternoon and evenings as well. Her prenatal checkups had all been good—he'd gone with her and although he hadn't cared for the pastel waiting rooms or the hippie-dippy doctor who told Juliet that she could 'float' through labor drug-free if she only put her mind to it and 'rode the waves', a part of him had started to get more excited about the baby, excited about soon being a father. They had heard their son or daughter's heartbeat at the last checkup, and when Juliet looked at him and he saw true happiness in her eyes, he'd held her hand, kissed it, kissed her, _loved_ her.

.

On the seventeenth, Juliet's mother called her, almost assuredly to make sure she would be coming to their house for a couple of days. Because she knew the reason for the call, and because she had absolutely no idea what she was going to say—because she didn't know what she was going to do, or what she even wanted to do—she let it ring out and go to voicemail, holding the phone in her hands and looking at her mother's number worriedly.

“Juliet?”

She looked up and tried to smile at Carlton, but since she was so anxious, it was an anxious smile, which made the slight frown on his face deepen. “It's just—my mother,” she said. “Wanting to know if I'm coming for Christmas.”

He continued to look at her a moment, and then he nodded. “You haven't told her yet.”

“None of them,” she agreed. It wasn't so much that she didn't know how—simple and straightforward was the key to her parents: _Mom, Lloyd, I'm going to have a baby_. It was what came next that was keeping her back, because of the reality of saying it to her family, and because a small part of her still hoped that things would be okay, that by the end of the month the nightmare of emptiness they were living in would be fixed, would be right.

 _Are you and Shawn getting married?_ Her mother would ask, and then look around. _Where is Shawn?_

I don't know I don't know I don't—

_He's gone._

Gone.

_We're not together any more, Mom. He's not the baby's father—Carlton Lassiter is. I'm living with him and we're doing fine but it's just us and that's not right. Carlton and I are having a baby, and that's good, but it's wrong because Shawn is gone._

She could never say that to her mother, could barely say it to herself, and not just because they would never understand. She could get by with just the basic truth—that she was living with a different man than they'd known her to be with last year, and that she was having a baby with him—but the problem was going to be the questions.

“I don't... I don't know how I'm going to stand this,” she said quietly, her eyes closed, and she willed herself not to cry anymore. She had done so much crying that it was getting old, which contrasted with how the hurt of him leaving was still so sharp and fresh. “All of the questions,” she went on. “They're going to want to know how—how things came to change from last year, how I'm with you instead of... him.”

There was quiet for a long moment, and then she felt him ease down on the sofa next to her and put a hand on her arm. “I'll go with you if you want,” he said softly. “It's your family and your business how you want to handle them and how much you want to tell them. But if you want me there—”

“Of course I want you there,” she whispered quickly. She took a long, slow breath, and then opened her eyes to look at him. “But I thought you were going to volunteer for duty until the 23rd since your sister and her husband aren't getting to your moms' until Christmas Eve.”

He shrugged. “I was, but I didn't. I'll probably still have to work Monday and Tuesday, but I'm fairly certain I can finagle Wednesday off, at least. You were going to go to your mother's on Tuesday and stay until Thursday morning, right?”

She nodded.

He nodded too, and pulled her close to him, kissing her forehead. “Go ahead and go. I'll join you on Wednesday and we can tell them together.” He paused. “I can do most of the talking and handle the questions for you—it'll be easier for me.” He pressed his lips together like he knew it still wasn't going to be exactly easy... but his presence would at least deflect a majority of the questions about her relationships. She sighed and laid her head on his shoulder, hoping she could get away with simply saying she had an announcement to make (while holding her left hand in view so that everyone could see the lack of a ring on it) and then waiting until Carlton arrived to tell everyone. She called her mother back, and wasn't in the least surprised when she didn't even slide by with the phone call.

“Is Shawn coming with you?” her mother asked, her voice warm and pleased after getting confirmation that Juliet would be there. 

Juliet took a second to steady her voice, knowing that her mother would hear it and unable to help that—she just hoped that she wouldn't start up with the questions at once, to at least give her a few days until they saw each other in person. “No,” she said.

As she thought there would, a long pause followed—and as she hoped, her mother seemed to realize that something was wrong, and that now wasn't the time to dig into it. “All right,” she said. “Are you bringing someone else?”

What to say here? She glanced at Carlton, who was still next to her and who could hear everything, and he held his hand out in a way that meant, _up to you_. “I'm coming by myself on Tuesday,” she said. “And then on Wednesday, I—someone's going to come up and join me. I can tell you more when I get there, Mom. Schedules are a bit out of whack right now.”

“All right,” her mother said again. “Well, I'm looking forward to seeing you, honey.”

Juliet smiled a little, thanking her mother silently for the times in which she could sense that her daughter needed time to sort things out for herself first. “Me too.” After they had said their goodbyes, she hung up and leaned against Carlton a little more, feeling his arm go around her shoulders. “It should be okay,” she said, to both of them. “It's good news. They'll focus on the good news. My mother... she'll probably be very happy, especially since she... well, she'll like you for me better.” She felt tears in her eyes again and tried to blink them away, but was unsuccessful. They were rolling down her cheeks by the time Carlton got turned sideways enough to hold her face in both hands. He seemed to want to say something, to try even, but in the end he simply kissed her mouth and held her, held on to her.

.

Christmas with Lassiter's family went much better than spending time with Juliet's—although the encounter and announcement (and subsequent questioning session) went fairly all right with her mother and the rest of her family, there had been more than a few moments in which he was tempted to invite them all to either shut it or try _on_ the traditional holiday flameball. (Of which he had been warned and was on the lookout for, they'd better believe it.) Juliet had been right in that there were next to no questions about who she'd been with previously, not with Lassiter present at least; she'd told him that almost as soon as she'd arrived, her stepfather had inquired about where Shawn was before her mother managed to give him a look. Once Lassiter had gotten there, he'd heard one of the little kids ask another where Auntie Julie's funny boyfriend was, and who the funny-looking man in the chair near her was. (Lassiter had to restrain himself from pointing out the nosy brat's big buck teeth. Funny-looking indeed!)

During dinner, when Juliet brought up that she had some exiting news, almost everyone's eyes had zeroed in on Lassiter, who sat next to her calmly, one hand on his lap and the other in hers, holding her hand. When she officially introduced Lassiter to everyone and said that they were having a baby, most of her family exploded with happy cheers and shouts, focusing on the impending child and not her relationships, current or past. That had been what Juliet had expected and hoped for, so he tried to stay quiet, smiling at their acceptance and congratulations while she answered questions that pertained to the pregnancy. The rest of the visit with her family had gone all right, and although he'd had to leave shortly before midnight, since he was on duty the next morning, he managed to get a few moments to talk with her privately, to see how she really felt about it all. Her eyes were wet again but she didn't cry, and this time he dared to hope, for just a few moments, that her family's excitement had overshadowed the part of her, and of them, that was missing. 

So, San Francisco, the 24th, four-thirty-two PM: Lassiter and Juliet arrived at the house his mother and Althea lived in, apparently minutes behind Lauren and Mike and their baby, ten-month-old Nicky, who was a subject of fascination for Juliet, who was, of course, a subject of fascination for Lauren and for Lassiter's mother. He'd grown up with a no-nonsense parent who believed in little else other than telling it like it was, a trait he knew could be viewed as both brutally honest and tactless, largely dependent on the present company. (And the subject matter, but really... almost entirely the present company.)

“Mother, Althea, Lauren, Mike,” he said, the moment everyone had set down bags. Everyone except Lauren and Juliet looked at him, Juliet because she was smiling at Nicky, who had one of her fingers in a firm infant grip, and Lauren because she was openly studying the newcomer. “This is Juliet O'Hara,” he said, and that caused her to glance up at him before gently pulling her finger away from the baby and taking a step closer to him, her face smooth and almost professional. He slid an arm around her waist to let her know she didn't have to stand at attention, and she did relax slightly, but only slightly. “We're living together,” he went on. “And we're expecting.”

There was a stunned silence. “A baby?” Lauren asked after a few seconds, her voice hushed but her eyes shining.

He gave his little sister an exasperated look. “No, a velociraptor.”

“Wow,” Lauren said, and reached over to pat Juliet's arm. “Claws. C-section. That's all I'm saying.”

“Congratulations,” Mike said, throwing his hand out. 

Lassiter shook with him, although he was mostly watching his mother, who had folded her arms and narrowed her eyes at Juliet. He sighed to himself, knowing that he was in for a talk about what was good for him and what had happened with Victoria and how this new woman that his mother had never met or heard of might simply be trying to trap him or break his heart in any number of other ways. He tried to catch his sister's eye, to obtain her help in keeping Juliet safe, but they were now engrossed in a gross conversation about childbirth.

“Well now, how about we move out of the doorway and into the parlor?” Althea suggested. “We've got some hot cider and eggnog and coffee ready, and dinner's almost finished.”

“I need just a little help with the table setting,” his mother said loudly, and the second her eyes cut to Lauren, Lassiter glanced at Juliet and saw what was very plainly a _you leave me alone with her and I'll name this baby Squirrelly Democrat O'Hara_ look. He shuddered for a second and gave her a nod, and when Lauren nonchalantly dumped Nicky into Mike's arms and started to follow her mother out to the kitchen, Lassiter grabbed her elbow.

“Lulu—” he began in a whisper.

“I know,” she hissed back. “I just met her but if you've been with her for more than a year _you_ must like her, so I'll help her stay alive through Mom's interrogation.” He started to thank her, but then she said, “All you have to do is one thing.”

He narrowed his eyes at her, but, like him, having grown up with their mother, she was unfazed. “What?”

“Go play with Nicky,” she said simply. “You need the practice.” Then she turned and held out a hand. “Juliet, want to come help? While we're seeing the table I'm going to tell you about all the embarrassing things my brother did when he was little, so you know what to expect.”

“You weren't even born until I was thirteen!” he reminded her. She gave him an innocent look back as she herded Juliet into the kitchen.

Mike clapped a hand on his back. “Seriously, Carlton, congratulations. She's beautiful, and having a kid is just about the best feeling in the world. Terrifying, but hey, you're a cop. Anyone breaks your kid's heart and you'll show off your gun, right?”

“I think that would be more of a preemptive strike,” he said honestly, and allowed himself to be led into the living room. When Mike plopped the drooling lump that was his nephew into his lap, Lassiter considered the infant carefully. “You have the right to remain silent,” he said quietly, gravely. “Please exercise it.” Nicky reached forward and grabbed his nose, but as he wasn't making any noise, Lassiter decided that he was at least behaving within the parameters of his orders, so he could let it slide.

A few minutes later, Juliet found him, and although she initially looked slightly annoyed, probably from having to listen to his mother either comparing her to Victoria or demanding to know when they were getting married (likely the only reason she'd been released was because of Lauren and then Althea running interference), her expression softened immediately when she discovered that Nicky was standing up on his lap with a huge grin on his face, pistoning his small feet as if he wanted to jump, tiny fists curled around both of Lassiter's thumbs, which he was holding up like chin-up bars. Mike was nearby but paying no attention, focused on some stupid sporting event that didn't involve weaponry, so Lassiter didn't care. 

Juliet slid onto the sofa next to him, plastering a big smile on her own face as Nicky looked at her, and in thinking about how goofy they must look—he the head detective of the Santa Barbara Police Department, dressed professionally in his three-piece suit, and she, a mature and gorgeous woman with a mind like razor wire—he saw the happiness on her face and felt his own rising up at the pleasant weight of the kid holding onto him, and he started to smile like a goon himself.


	25. Friender Bender

The day after Christmas was a Sunday, and although Carlton was at the PD catching up on some paperwork for having been out the past few days, Juliet was home, and doing nothing but watching TV (although she felt that still counted as nothing), as she looked right through it and barely heard anything, barely noticed what was on. The only reason she'd switched the set on was because the apartment was far too quiet and far too empty, not just because Carlton was gone, but because even when he was here, they were still alone. Christmas had come and gone, and although they hadn't talked about it, the look on each other's faces as they realized that the hope they'd had had been unfounded had said everything. 

Still alone.

Her laptop computer was open on the sofa next to her—she'd been idly looking at nursery necessities and room themes and plans after breakfast—and when she heard it chime with a new email, she managed to drag her gaze away from a fixed point beyond a commercial for some satellite TV offer to drag it over and open the email window, thinking that it would be Carlton seeing if she wanted him to bring her anything. She'd just decided that she would ask for cheesecake—or any kind of cake, if that couldn't be located on his way home—when she realized the email wasn't from him. It was from Gus.

Gus—who they hadn't seen and had barely spoken to for two months. The last time Juliet could remember seeing him was when he'd brought them a goodbye letter that wasn't addressed to them but was for them all the same; the last time Carlton had seen him was when he gave them the things Shawn had left at his apartment. Without his partner, Gus had been forced to close Psych, and had no reason to be contacted by the PD, so she knew Carlton hadn't seen or spoken to him either in the last two months. It wasn't that he was avoiding them, but he seemed to know that seeing each other would do nothing but remind them all of the one person that tied them all together and was no longer around, so he hadn't made efforts to contact them, and they hadn't either. What was there to say?

What _was_ there to say? Juliet opened the message, her heart pounding, both not sure she wanted to know, and excited to know what could have caused him to break the silence between them.

> _Juliet—_
> 
> _I know that this is sudden, but I was hoping to stop by and see you and Lassiter later today, just to say hello and Merry Christmas. If this would be inconvenient, please let me know._
> 
> _Your friend,  
>  —Gus_

  
She smiled at that, although she still felt a little shaky with the idea of seeing him. Her friend. Yes, he had been a good friend to her, despite not being very close. She had once confided in him deeply, and he'd given her the support she'd badly needed. Now she felt badly about practically cutting him out of her life; it was true that he would do nothing but remind her of Shawn, and _his_ absence, but who other than herself and Carlton would feel his absence the most, who might also be lonely, who might also be missing him so much it hurt? Who else had been left behind?

She hit reply on the message at once, quickly typed that they would be glad to see him (Carlton might not, actually, but she thought he would at least not mind, and it might do him some good to see another person that understood what they were still going through), and then she texted Carlton to call her when he got a chance, knowing how much he hated surprises, particularly when they had to do with people he either didn't know or barely knew. Gus was once an almost-friend to him as well—at least a not-minded acquaintance that he saw and spoke to fairly frequently—and if his presence only stirred painful memories, for both Carlton and herself, at least then they would know. Gus had reached out to her, and it was Christmas (he'd almost certainly waited until the day after on purpose, either because of family celebrations or because... he might have been hoping the same things they had), and she wouldn't refuse him. 

As she suspected, Carlton seemed reluctant when he called her and she told him about Gus coming over. “Did he say what he wanted?” he asked.

“To say hello and Merry Christmas,” she said, and then she paused. He heard it and waited. “I think he just wants to see us. We're not... we're not the only ones affected, Carlton.”

He sighed. “I know. I guess it should be fine.” This time he paused. “I don't suppose... maybe he's heard...”

Juliet closed her eyes briefly. She'd thought of that—if maybe Gus had heard... something. From him. But his email didn't give off that impression, and although that was the sort of thing one might not just drop in an email, and would prefer to say in person... “I don't know,” she said finally. “What time do you think you'll be home?”

“Almost right away—I was just getting ready to leave.”

She smiled. “Can you pick up a cheesecake?”

“Cheesecake,” he repeated slowly.

Now her eyebrows went up. “Problem?”

He sighed. “No. I just—we both know what's going to come up, Juliet. I'm sure Guster is doing fine enough and I don't see what good spending time together will do any of us.”

“All right,” she said carefully. “I can meet him myself some other time if you think it's going to be too awkward. But, you know, he asked to see you too, not just me. If you can't handle seeing him...”

“I can handle Guster just fine,” he said quickly. “I just don't understand what reason he would have to want to see us after all this time.”

“It's Christmas.”

“Yeah,” he said, and now his voice was almost bitter. “Tis the goddamn season to go back home and see friends and family, or so I've heard.”

“Carlton!” Her breath was barely more than a squeak as she drew in his name as a gasp.

She heard him blow out a huge breath, and then he was back, grim but apologetic. “I shouldn't have said that.”

“We were both thinking it... but I—he—I don't—”

“I'm coming home,” he said sharply, realizing that she had started to cry again. Every time she thought she was going to be okay, something else came along to remind her in a new and galvanizing way how much it still hurt, how much it was always going to hurt. “I'm sorry, Juliet, really. None of this is fair to any of us. If it'll make you feel better to see Gus, I'll be there. And if it makes a difference, I hope it helps.”

She knew he didn't, not really—he was clearly convinced it was only going to cause more pain to all of them to be in each other's company, but she couldn't help hoping, not only that seeing Gus would give her some small measure of comfort, but that maybe... it was _possible_ that he'd seen—or heard—or that he knew something, anything. The smallest bit of news, of anything, even a blank postcard, she knew he'd sometimes sent them to Henry while he was traveling around before he'd come back to Santa Barbara—but they hadn't seen or heard from him either since... since October.

“Okay,” she said, trying to keep a sniffle out of her voice. “I'll see you soon.”

He arrived home half an hour later, and although his face was set and his eyes were hard, he had a raspberry cheesecake in a box in one hand, and his eyes softened when they landed on her; she was on the sofa, her legs tucked underneath her, feeling simultaneously subdued and apprehensive. He brought out his other hand from behind his back and offered her a single rose, and she smiled, sometimes loving how completely old-fashioned he could be. He bent down to kiss her and she gladly let him, accepting his apology without him having to speak it. 

“Gus will be here about eight,” she said softly. “What do you want to do for dinner?”

“Whatever you want.”

She wasn't very hungry, partly because she'd actually eaten a fairly big brunch, and partly because she couldn't think of anything that would spark her appetite. “Soup would be good,” she said. He nodded and headed to the bedroom to change before going to make some for them.

.

It was just like Guster to knock on the door at precisely eight o'clock—if Lassiter had his eye on his atomic watch, he was certain the first knock would have landed just as the time rolled over. Juliet looked over at him from her place on the sofa, and he folded and set down his newspaper, feeling reluctant but trying not to show her. After his outburst today, he was more than eager to get this over with so that if he was right... which he almost certainly was... they could try to get on with dealing with what they both knew now but didn't want to think about.

Juliet got up and went to the door, but Lassiter stayed where he was, unsure what to do. Fortunately, Juliet came back into the living room with Guster behind her just a moment later. Guster looked as neat and put-together as he always had, although his eyes darted around the room quickly as he stepped forward with his hand out.

“Lassiter,” Gus said, and then he paused, trying out his first name almost as a question. “Carlton.”

Lassiter decided to go with the name the other man preferred—no need to make this any more awkward than it was bound to be, get it out of the way. “Gus,” he said, and shook. “Either of those are fine, just don't call me—” He stopped, finding himself unable to say it. 

Guster nodded sympathetically. “I get you.”

“Please have a seat, Gus,” Juliet said, and perched on the edge of the sofa herself as Lassiter sat back down in his chair. 

Gus did so, and as he did they saw he had something in his other hand. He held it out to Juliet. “Merry Christmas.”

“Oh, you shouldn't have,” she said, and blushed, probably in realizing how cliché that line was. She clearly meant it, but knew it would be bad manners to refuse the gift. “I'm sorry, we don't have anything for you.”

He waved a hand at that. “It's nothing, really. It's mostly for your—for Juliet junior.”

“Excuse you,” Lassiter said in a severe voice. “Our child's name is Jedidiah.”

“Not in this lifetime,” Juliet muttered, and that dispelled the uncertain, mildly wary look on Guster's face. He smiled as Juliet opened the gift, which appeared to be a CD. “ _Classic A Capella Lullabyes_ ,” she read. “Thank you, Gus.”

He grinned again. “No problem. That's the sort of tunes you can play to the baby in utero, you know—the more you play it before birth, the more the baby will hear it and remember it. Then, once he or she is born, if you play it again, they'll recognize it and be soothed by it, and it can help them fall asleep better if they're a tough sleeper.”

“How do you play it for an unborn baby?” Lassiter wondered.

Gus gestured to his abdomen. “Headphones. A fetus can hear sounds starting around the sixteenth week, and they can recognize distinctive tones and sounds—like music or singing—from about the twenty-seventh week on.”

“I read something about that,” Juliet said, and suddenly she leaned forward with an arm out. “Thank you again, Gus. I'll definitely use this for the baby.”

“You're welcome,” he said, hugging her back. Lassiter noticed the other man's eyes dart to him, but neither said anything. Juliet sat back and gently set the CD on the coffee table, and there was an uncomfortable lull—it was clear that everyone wanted to ask, and almost as equally clear that there was no need.

“How is work?” Juliet asked finally.

“Good,” Guster said quickly. “I've gotten two raises and a promotion—someone at my company transferred up to Washington State just after Thanksgiving and I was given first pick of her route.”

“That's great, you deserve it,” she said, smiling.

Gus seemed to hesitate, and then he nodded to her. “Everything cool with—with Jedidiah?”

Juliet gave Lassiter a look, at which he smirked, and then they both chuckled. “Yes, everything's great,” she said, and laid a hand over her belly. “The tests came out fine—no cystic fibrosis or any other abnormalities—and I'm due in June.”

“Do you have names picked out? Other than Right Said Jed,” Gus added. 

There was another pause, and when Lassiter saw Juliet frown slightly, he knew she was thinking the same thing he was. _That sounded like him_. “Not yet,” Juliet said. “We're still talking. Obviously I'm not actually going to go for _Jedidiah_. Or _Clementine_.”

“Why do you hate your child?” Gus asked Lassiter.

“Hey, those are classic names that only lost popularity due to some of the newer atrocities like _Brice_ and _Mandy_.” Lassiter made a disgusted face.

“I hear that,” Gus said. “My mom told me that one of my cousins had a baby a few weeks ago—named the poor, innocent little thing Sequoia.”

Who hated whose child now? “Like the _tree_?” Lassiter asked, baffled.

“Exactly like the tree.” Gus shook his head. “What gets me is that she named her first daughter Gracie.” There was another pause. “What names do you like?” Gus asked Juliet, clearly scrambling for anything to say. Lassiter sighed quietly to himself and was thankful that neither of the others seemed to have seen him. 

“I'm not sure yet—it's such a big decision, and impacts a child's life so much.” She gave him a somewhat rueful smile. “I'm sure you can imagine me growing up, forever being asked where my Romeo was.”

“Guster's niece is constantly going to be told to make like a tree and leave,” Lassiter pointed out.

“My mom and aunt are working on a plan to give that poor little girl a nickname,” Gus assured them.

“Nicknames are good, and also something we need to consider,” Juliet said. “In school I knew a Sabrina whose family called her Breezy, which was cute and fit her pretty well, but I also knew a boy named Peter who everyone called Pecker for some reason.”

Another space of silence. Gus looked around at both of them and seemed to set his mouth. “Drink, Gus?” Lassiter said suddenly, knowing what he was about to ask and not wanting to hear it. For all his previous thoughts of wanting it over with, he now felt that Juliet was right, always right—some hope was better than none, even if it beat you to death as you held on. Maybe it really was better than feeling part of yourself dying, anything to push that off. 

“Sure,” Gus said slowly, a little uncertainly. “Thank you.”

As Lassiter got up to to into the kitchen, he heard Juliet pick up the CD and ask him which was his favorite track on it. He turned on the electric kettle to heat some water, poured himself a bit-more-than a double, a knock for Guster, and when the kettle boiled and turned itself off, he poured steaming water over a tea bag for Juliet. He brought the drinks in just as the previous conversation was dying, and as he set the tray on the coffee table and handed Guster his glass, he knew there was no stopping it now, might as well just let it come. He sat back down in his chair and tossed back half of his drink, now wishing that Gus would say what he was going to, and ask his questions, and then leave them back to each other and the life they were trying to rebuild—the one that kept getting knocked back down with memories and false hopes. This had to be the last, because they just couldn't live like this.

The silence spun out, and when Lassiter glanced at Juliet, he saw that she was gripping her tea mug so tightly that her hands would be reddened later. It was much too hot for her to drink from yet, but she was trying to anyway, taking little birdlike sips that barely wet her lips, just to have some sort of movement to make. Gus was looking down into his glass, his shoulders slumping, and Lassiter wondered if he now realized what a mistake it was to come here. 

“No,” he said finally, loudly. Gus and Juliet both started and looked at him, then at each other, then at him again. He set his jaw, the fingers of his hand holding the glass squeezing it and trying to prevent downing the rest and then just bringing back the whole bottle. “We haven't seen him, Guster.”

Guster blinked now, several times, and he looked at Juliet in time to see her bow her head and take a long inhale of the steam coming from her tea. “Oh,” Gus said at last, his voice very small. “I just... I haven't, either.”

Juliet jerked her head up now, so fast that she almost sloshed tea over the side of her mug and onto her hand. “Nothing?” she asked. “Not—a phone call, or a postcard, or—or—anything?”

Gus shook his head. “No. I'm sorry. I mean, I thought—” He stopped and sipped his drink, collecting himself. “I thought you probably hadn't, otherwise it might have—have meant something. And even if it didn't involve me, you still would have looked—I mean, when I got here I could tell...” He trailed off and sighed heavily. “I'm sorry. I was just hoping, you know... Christmas...”

“We were too,” Juliet said, her voice barely more than a whisper. “We haven't—no calls or cards or anything at all to us either. Nothing. I guess he—he's really—”

Lassiter finished his drink off in a huge gulp, and then he was up and squeezing himself next to Juliet on the sofa, enough to put an arm around her. She turned into him and let out one muffled sob against his shirt, and he carefully took her mug from her and set it on the table. He tried to put his other arm around her but she was sitting up again, wiping her face with the heels of her palms and taking steadying breaths.

“I'm sorry, Gus,” she said.

“Don't be,” he said at once, looking near tears himself. “I'm sorry if coming here upset you, I honestly didn't mean—should I go?”

“Yes,” Lassiter said. 

Gus immediately leaned forward to put his drink down, but by the time he'd stood up, Juliet was standing as well, and she put her arms around him again. “It's okay,” Lassiter could hear her say softly. “It's not your fault, Gus. It was good to see you, it really was. We're just... it's been so hard. We're not... really okay yet.”

“I understand,” Guster said, his voice low and soothing. “If I ever hear—”

She cut him off with another fierce hug. “Thank you for the present—it means a lot. I'm going to play it for the baby all the time.”

“Twenty-seven weeks,” he reminded her as she let him go. She smiled and nodded, and Guster looked at Lassiter, apprehensive.

Because he knew Juliet would want him to, and because he'd upset her earlier unnecessarily, he stood and held out a hand, but not to shake. “Walk you to the door,” he said quietly. As they walked toward the hall, he looked over his shoulder to make sure Juliet was sitting back down, and she had, reaching for her tea mug again. 

At the door, out of earshot, Lassiter held out his hand again, and this time he grasped Guster's hand firmly, looking at him seriously. He thought that if— _if_ —Shawn ever did come back to this area, no matter the reason (if he was ready to come home, if he even wanted to, if he just wanted to scope out the possibilities, if he wanted or needed one of his possessions, if he needed money, if he wanted to take a dump on his father's precious boat), it was most likely that this man, his companion since very early childhood and his closest friend and confidante for all his life, would be the first one to know it.

“If you see him, Gus,” he said, his own voice low and slow as he held onto it, “if you hear anything... anything at all. Please tell me.”

Gus's brow wrinkled. “Not Juliet, though?”

Lassiter sighed. “The hope is killing her.”

“It's not killing you?” Now Gus looked doubtful.

He tried to smile and failed, only managing a sort of hurt wince. “Of course it is,” he said quietly. “But I'm not the one trying to bring a new life into the world. Besides, she... she's always been a more hopeful person than I have.”

“You don't think you're ever going to see him again, do you?”

It hurt so much, and looking into Guster's wounded gaze reminded Lassiter of the hollow look in Shawn's the last time he'd seen him. _We'll make it okay_ , the last thing Lassiter had told him.

 _Nothing will ever really be okay again_ , Shawn's eyes had said back, and oh, goddamn everything, but they had meant it. One didn't need to be psychic, or a genius, or a natural brilliant detective to know the future of one's own heart. One didn't need to lose Shawn Spencer to have almost all of the magic sucked out of their lives, either... but they had. 

“We'll see you around, Gus,” Lassiter told him, instead of answering. But that was another lie, and, in a not exactly shocking turn of events, he could see that Guster read the truth in his own. His shoulders slumped again and he left, and when Lassiter closed the door behind him, he closed his eyes and tried to close his mind, at least for a while.


	26. Vick On The Uptake

  
**JANUARY 2011**

  
Around the first week of January, a bump began to rise in Juliet's midsection. If one didn't know her, or didn't see her every day, it wasn't noticeable, but of course Lassiter could feel it when he laid a hand on her belly; a small, firm section of her abdomen where their child lived and grew. It was a source of comfort for them both, especially as it started to become more prominent, and they forced themselves into a horrible conversation: three months was far too long. Shawn wasn't coming back. He'd meant it when he'd written in his note that they should go on and be a family without him, and after there had still been no news past Christmas, Lassiter and Juliet made themselves say aloud that it was high time they moved on. He couldn't afford to be depressed and distracted at work any longer, and nor could she; nor could they be that way with each other, not if they wanted to stay together and keep their relationship strong, and not if they wanted to raise their child in a stable environment. They had roughly five months until she was due, and they could ill-afford any more time spent in the past, or in empty hope. 

In an effort to make this decision concrete, Lassiter and Juliet decided that it was time enough that they could—and should—start telling people they worked with. Juliet had noticed some of her coworkers glancing deliberately toward her belly as the weeks went by, and it was, after all, a cause for celebration. Lassiter was more dubious, thinking of the rumors that had dogged them so many months ago, but as it was only he and Juliet now, nothing could really cause trouble for them. Over one weekend, Juliet carefully snipped their baby's first ultrasound pictures to fit into small, plain frames, and the next Monday they each took one to work with them. Lassiter set his on his desk near his computer and smiled at the shape, which was just that: a nonsensical shape in waves of black and white. Juliet's name was in one of the upper corners, followed by the fetal information, such as size, heart rate, and projected due date. 

The picture was there less than two hours before he first noticed someone looking at it.

No big deal, they'd been expecting that. Having the ultrasound pictures in plain sight had been his suggestion, his way of announcing that he was going to be a father; it was fine for Juliet to just tell people, but he still thought it was none of anyone else's business. Another time, or in other circumstances, he might have been proud enough to actually call people over and make the declaration, but because of his recent loss he'd drawn inward even more so than he knew he had been in years past. He'd always been a moderately private person, not caring much to know people he worked with outside of work, and he'd rarely cared for the company of others. He'd cared what they thought of him even less, and that was, for the most part, still true—however, he cared what people might think of Juliet. What conclusions they might draw from the news that she was living with Lassiter, and having a child with him, when it was still somewhat recent news that Psych was closed and that the pair of consultants that used to almost have the run of the department hadn't been seen there in months. 

Lassiter came back to his desk from assigning various cases to the rest of the detectives and loudly dropped the rest of the files he was holding onto the surface of his desk, noticeably startling McNab, who had been leaned over enough to study the picture in the frame. He straightened up in a hurry, and then he turned his open, smiling but slightly confused face to Lassiter, who regarded him carefully; he had known about the three of them, and although he seemed to have been good to his word and hadn't told anyone—anyone that had ever come back to them, anyway—Lassiter was still on his guard. 

“Detective Lassiter,” he said, and pointed. “Is that what I think it is?”

“That depends. What do you think it is?” he asked, thinking that it was truly a valid question and wondering if McNab had actually gotten it or if he was going to squint back at it like a Magic Eye drawing and eventually say he saw the Mona Lisa.

“Is it...” McNab actually dropped his voice then. “A baby?” Lassiter didn't reply for a moment, and McNab's eyes did flick back to the sonogram. “Right? Francie's sister is pregnant and she showed us pictures that looked just like that a few months ago.”

Lassiter fought back a sigh. Might as well get on with it. “Yes,” he said. “It's an ultrasound picture.”

Detective Antillo had been passing by, and at those words he stopped in his tracks and turned around quickly. “Ultrasound?” he repeated. “Is someone having a baby, or a tumor?”

“A baby,” McNab said, and pointed to the picture on Lassiter's desk. 

Antillo looked surprised, and then he clapped Lassiter on the back. “Congrats!” he said. “When?”

“This summer.”

Antillo grinned then. “Well, you look great. Do you know who the mother is?”

“Ha ha.” Lassiter fought back another urge, this one to roll his eyes and tell Antillo to get back to his desk and back to work. “Of course I do, how else would I have gotten the picture?”

Antillo snorted and, as he leaned in for a closer view, Lassiter noticed McNab frowning slightly, probably finally putting it together. “Whoa!” Antillo said then, and when he stood up, his eyes were wide. “O'Hara? Really? She's having your little baby detective?”

That one almost made him smile, but he was still watching McNab out of the corner of one eye. “Yes, that's right.”

“Wow,” Antillo said, and after a few seconds of looking surprised still, he held out his hand. “Well, congrats to you and to her,” he said. “I gotta say, I miss her around here, but it sure sounds like she's got a lot to look forward to.”

Lassiter shook with him shortly. “Thank you,” he said, and then pointedly looked at his watch. Antillo got the message and headed off. “You got something to be doing, McNab?” Lassiter asked then.

“Yes,” McNab said. “Me and Officer Kittanning arrested Brent Ulrich early this morning during a domestic disturbance—you had a notice to hold him for questioning for possible involvement in a robbery six months ago.”

“Yes I did,” he agreed, and quickly sat down at his computer to pull up the notes and case file number. “Go get him and put him in one of the interview rooms, I'll be right there.”

After three hours of trying to break the lowlife who had until today been successful in dodging the police, Lassiter was beyond pissed off—Ulrich utterly refused to give up any information on the robbery case Lassiter _knew_ he'd been a part of, and what was more, he implicated himself in yet another robbery case that was missing any evidence whatsoever. He now had crap work to slog through, to try to find anything that could better link him to either. The asshole had had the nerve to demand coffee and then deliberately spill it over the table and onto some of the notes Lassiter had laid out as well, and he ordered McNab to throw the scumsucker back into the holding cell while he went back to his desk to type as much of his handwritten notes as he could now read. 

He'd been at it less than twenty minutes when someone came up to the side of his desk and then stopped. He looked up, irritated, to see Officer Pierce studying the ultrasound picture on his desk. She was still rather new and he bit back a snap at her to go find something to do that wasn't hovering over his shoulder, already more than regretting bringing the fucking thing to work. “Can I help you?” he asked. 

“I'm sorry,” Pierce said, and then pointed. “I just heard, and I couldn't believe it. I mean—it's great, congratulations. But I thought...”

He narrowed his eyes. “You thought what?”

She shrugged. “I knew Detective O'Hara, a little? Before she transferred? She just—she told me she was living with the psychic guy, and that you weren't her boyfriend.”

“I'm sure that was months ago,” he said shortly.

“It was. So, she's with you now?”

“Yes,” he said. “Now, if you don't mind—”

“I'm sure he snapped her up the second Spencer blew town,” another voice said from behind them. Lassiter clenched his teeth together and turned, glaring at a detective that belonged to the gang unit. Claremont snorted at his look, and gave Pierce a knowing smile. “They used to be partners, y'know? We all thought they'd make it eventually, especially once he moved back here. Hey, for all we know, he nabbed her up and that's _why_ Spencer left! Man knows what he wants.” He started to give Lassiter a grin, realized how much thunder was on his face, and put his hands up. “Whoa man, I'm just saying,” he said. “Everyone thought you two were going to eventually get together, and a few months ago Spencer suddenly disappears and now she's having _your_ baby? Not hard to put that one together. Good on you.”

Lassiter was on his feet, his fists clenched and his stomach roiling. “Shut your mouth before I shut it for you,” he warned. “You don't know what you're talking about.”

Claremont gave him another look, this one clearly saying that he was overreacting for no reason. “Bro, I'm on your side,” he said. “O'Hara was a fine-lookin' woman, it made no sense to anyone in my unit what she saw in some smartass civilian that pretended he could talk to ghosties.” He held both of his hands out. “You're clearly the better choice, glad she saw that. No shame in snaking her, she clearly traded up—”

Later, Lassiter decided that if he'd been thinking, he would have gone for Claremont's mouth first, at least loosening a tooth or two, before doubling him up with a punch to the gut. That would have almost been worth the official reprimand that would have gone in his permanent file. He didn't get to land a punch, though, luckily or not; almost as soon as he started to move, there were people trying to pull him back—probably those that spent more time around him and understood what the look on his face signified. Whoever it was yanked him back, hard, and when he was turned away so that he couldn't see Claremont anymore, he realized he'd been pulled directly in front of Chief Vick, who had come out of her office and now held both hands up in front of her face, taking half a step back. Lassiter subsided, his shoulders heaving as he tried to calm down enough for McNab to let him go.

Ten minutes later he was in a chair in front of Vick's desk, the door closed firmly and the blinds drawn to prevent the many stares that were coming from almost everyone outside. Vick sat behind her desk, her hands folded on its surface, her eyes hard and her lips thin as she stared down her head detective and he stared at her blotter.

“I apologize,” Lassiter said stiffly. “That was out of line and it won't happen again.”

Vick didn't say anything for a long moment, so long that he finally glanced at her face, which he knew was her intention. Her eyes were slightly narrowed as she looked at him, and then, when she at last sat back in her chair, he thought he could almost feel himself being read. “I hear congratulations are in order,” she said finally.

That was so out of place, out of context, that he looked at her again, dragging his gaze up from what looked like a glass fish on the corner of her desk. He nodded slowly, but didn't speak. 

“I only just got here,” she went on. “So I haven't had a chance to get a look at the ultrasound picture I hear you brought in today. I'm assuming Ms. O'Hara is carrying your child. I hope it works out for you two.”

He blinked, and there was a space of seconds when he tried to think of what the right answer was. Her face was now carefully blank, so there were no cues there. He was confused as to why she wasn't reading him the riot act about nearly attacking another detective. That must be coming. Maybe he was going to get more than a verbal reprimand, maybe he was going to get a letter in his file about his violent tendencies. Maybe she was going to suspend him. He felt defensive and guilty and pissed off—he was provoked, dammit, and it wouldn't matter because he couldn't even explain how. Was she asking about the baby to further calm him down? That might have worked, but why bring Juliet into it? The thought of her might also work to calm him down, and he recognized that... if only she (and... _him_ ) hadn't been the cause of his upset in the first place. 

“Why would you assume that?” he asked. 

Vick smiled thinly. “I'm the chief of police,” she said simply, and then expanded when he scowled. “I'm not bad at puzzle-solving myself, Carlton. I've known there was something going on between you two since you moved back—I never said anything because it wasn't my business and, to my knowledge, you were very discreet, very good about keeping anything personal from getting in the way of your police work. There were rumors, of course, but nothing substantial.” She paused. “I don't know the details, of course, but I did notice that, very shortly after Ms. O'Hara transferred out of this department, you changed your address. I had to contact former Detective O'Hara about one of her previous cases going to trial, and when I brought up her information, I noticed that her address had changed as well, and it was the same as yours.” She paused again. “When I decided to bring Mr. Spencer and Mr. Guster in on a case, bringing up his contact information showed the same address yet.”

He shifted uncomfortably in his chair, knowing it was a guilty tell and unable to help it. “I was looking for an apartment when my lease was up and they had an extra room,” he said.

“I didn't ask for details either,” Vick said, her voice a little softer. When Lassiter looked back up at her again, she held his gaze with such a knowing look that he felt a desire to shift again, to lick his suddenly dry lips, but he resisted. “Mr. Spencer was many things, but unobservant and oblivious were never among them,” she went on, her voice quieter still. “Your personal life is your business, and any part of Ms. O'Hara's personal life is irrelevant to me. But I'm sure you can imagine that I was able to put two and two together when Mr. Guster called to inform me that the Psych Agency was closing because Mr. Spencer was no longer in town.”

“That's not what—” Lassiter began quickly, and then he snapped his mouth closed, drumming his fingers on the arm of the chair. “It's not what you think,” he said after a moment. “It's not what anyone thinks. I know what it must look like, but it—we didn't—we wouldn't—Shawn just—he—”

Vick was frowning slightly. “Calm down, Carlton.” He tried, sitting up again and letting out a low breath while she watched him. “Do you want to tell me what happened?” she asked. 

“It's private,” he muttered.

“I'm sure it is, and normally I wouldn't ask. But it seems to be bleeding into your professional life and affecting your ability to do your job and get along with your fellow officers,” she said. “To be perfectly frank, I'm sure you had to know they were going to assume that Ms. O'Hara broke up with Mr. Spencer in order to be with you instead, causing him to leave town. That's not a secret—if it was meant to be, it wasn't going to last. Almost everyone here knew Ms. O'Hara at one point or another, you can't blame them for being curious and making speculations.”

“It's none of their business,” he said, clenching his jaw again. 

“Be that as it may, if you can't handle the occasional person asking questions, especially once you bring in an ultrasound picture that announces that you and she are expecting—”

“That's not what happened,” he said in a low voice. “I knew they were going to do that.” He blew out a frustrated breath and tried to unclench his fist, which was tight again as he remembered what Claremont had said, as if it was all not only okay, but right.

“Then what was the problem?” Vick's voice was still even, but it was clear her patience was running low.

“I just... didn't want them saying things about—about Shawn.” He tried to swallow but his throat was too dry, and he couldn't meet his superior's eyes. “We didn't run him out. We didn't—he knew. When he left, that was... it was something else. Which I'm not going to talk about. I can't.” He paused again to try to take a deep breath. “No one knows what was really going on with him, and it's out of line for them to _speculate_. If they're going to, they need to not involve me, because I won't have it.” When he looked at her again, her gaze was so penetrating that he was tempted to look away, but he forced himself to keep eye contact, because he had to try to make her believe that he was telling the truth. “The bottom line is that he's gone... it's no one's business why but his, Juliet's, and mine. It's personal, and private. All that matters is that he's gone. It's just us... and the baby... and I apologize for what happened out there. I think the others will have gotten the message not to push me about it.”

There was a long pause; Lassiter looked at Vick and she looked back. He at first thought she was trying to force him to speak first, the old interrogation room tactic of waiting for the suspect to trip over himself and say something he regretted later, and he clamped down down on everything but his steady look back... then he realized that she was thinking, considering, and he started to feel anxious again, because she was very, very still. 

“He knew,” she said after a minute or so. Lassiter looked at her warily. “You said... that he knew. Mr. Spencer knew that you and Ms. O'Hara were seeing each other? While she was still living with him?” She frowned again. “While you were living with them?”

He wanted to just keep looking at her, but she raised her eyebrows then, wanting a reply. “It's... personal,” he said reluctantly. 

“Yes, so you've said. I'm just trying to understand the reasoning behind why you became so upset that you almost assaulted another officer for apparently following a perfectly logical train of assumption.” Vick pressed her lips together. “If Ms. O'Hara was involved with both Mr. Spencer and yourself, at the same time, it makes sense that she would remove herself from the department.” Now she sighed. “You're all adults, Carlton, and you're right that it's your business what you do with whomever you want on your own time. I'll admit that I'm perplexed, but it's not my place... unless it has an adverse effect on your work. I've noticed that you've seemed rather down and distracted ever since Mr. Spencer left. Almost assaulting another officer for making comments about him, no matter whether or not you feel guilty—if Ms. O'Hara decided she wanted solely to be with you—”

“That's not what happened,” he said. “It has nothing to do with guilt.” He looked up, saw that Vick looked doubtful, and that pissed him off again. “It has to do with _missing_ him, okay? He was just _gone_ , we have no idea where, he hasn't contacted us. We did _not_ push him out, he was in _the whole time_.” He stopped talking then, realizing too late by Vick's widening eyes that he'd said too much. Well, what the fuck. It really wasn't like it mattered now. Shawn was still gone. “Look... Chief... “ He stopped and tried to calm himself down again. “We know that he's not coming back now,” he said, his voice low and steady enough now. “So none of it matters. What matters... is that Juliet and I are working hard at getting our lives where they need to be, getting ready for the baby. We're happy about it.” Never minding that he sounded grim. He felt grim, although part of that was being stuck in this conversation.

Vick was giving him the penetrating look again, and after a long moment, she nodded. “I can see that you're trying,” she said slowly. “Carlton... have you tried—I assume you have, but I haven't seen anything official, such as a Missing Persons—have you tried looking for him? Or are you... respecting his decision to leave?”

Of course he had tried looking for Shawn, several times. He hadn't told Juliet—hadn't wanted to get her hopes up—but of course she'd known he was going to, had probably tried herself. Nothing whatsoever, not even on his motorcycle plates or registration, no activity on any of his credit card or other money accounts that Lassiter knew of. It was literally like he had disappeared into thin air, vanished. Like he could have been—no. He closed his eyes briefly, slamming a wall down on the word before it could form in his head. 'Gone' was awful, but it wasn't necessarily so... final. “He doesn't want to be found,” he told Vick slowly. “We're sure of it.”

“And you've seriously looked, because you honestly have no idea where is is.”

“No, we don't.”

She paused again. “And you—both of you—want him back. To come back.”

“Yes,” he muttered.

There was another long silence. When Lassiter managed to look at her again, he saw sympathy there. She still looked baffled, but he was relieved that he couldn't detect any disgust or revulsion at anything she'd come to know or to infer from what he'd said, and what he hadn't said. That was good, so good that he didn't care if she was sympathetic—it wasn't going to help anything, after all, except maybe some understanding. He'd underestimated her, and it wasn't the first time.

“Chief—” he began again, but this time she held a hand up. 

“I'm going to give you a warning,” she said. “Unofficially. I still don't understand, and I don't think I need to, nor do I want to—I still believe that your personal business remains so, as long as you can keep it out of work, and that includes learning to turn a deaf ear to rumor-mongering when you have work to do. May I be assured that this will be the case, from this moment on?”

“Yes ma'am,” he said at once. 

“Good,” she said softly. She gave him another few seconds of her scrutinizing look, and then her voice was professional and clipped once more. “Dismissed.”

He was up and out of her office in a matter of seconds, and then he strode to his desk with his head up and his eyes sweeping the faces of anyone that felt like looking at him. Most averted their eyes, and that was good. He decided he needed a cup of coffee to soothe his nerves, and that it was better yet when a file clerk saw him coming and scooted out of his way when he was nearly to the break room. 

The room was empty, and the coffee was fresh. Better still. He skipped over the sugar substitute packets and went right for the shaker. “Say when,” he muttered to his pancreas, and then kept on pouring. He sat down at one of the tables and drank his coffee in neat little sips, savoring how hot and sweet it was. After it was gone he felt better, and he stood up to rinse out his mug.

As he was turning back toward the door, he heard someone else come in, and his shoulders tensed automatically. Whoever it was stopped a few feet behind him, and he prepared to turn around and let loose if he heard so much as _one word_ —

“Umm... Detective Lassiter?”

He let out a breath in a huff. “McNab,” he said shortly, and then turned around slowly. “What do you want?”

“I just wanted to say I'm sorry,” McNab said, his hands in his pockets. 

Lassiter frowned. For pulling him away from Claremont? “No need,” he said. “As much as I would have liked to sock that jabbermouth, it's better that it didn't come to that.”

McNab looked confused for a few seconds, and then he shook his head. “No, not for that.” He sighed, and then seemed to brace himself, but went on anyway, in a low voice. “I'm sorry that Shawn's gone. I keep expecting to see him, you know... bouncing into the PD just like always, smiling and talking to Gus about a movie no one but them's ever seen, or getting the spirits to help out with a case. I miss all the cool ways he'd find out about things, and he was always really nice to me. I really miss him... and I can't imagine how much you and Juliet do.” 

He stopped talking then and his eyes widened. He didn't move back, but his hands came out of his pockets, probably because of the look Lassiter was giving him, which had to have been at least on par with, or possibly worse, than he one he'd given Claremont. He was so indignant that this buffoon would talk about Shawn like that, that he dare even mention him in conjunction with the two of them that were left, that his brain seemed to have jammed and he couldn't speak. 

McNab put both of his hands up then. “Sorry,” he said. “I'm sorry if that was out of line, I didn't mean it to be. I don't know what happened, of course—all I know is that for a while all of you were happy, and I'm sorry that it didn't work out. I kept the promise I made to Shawn, you know? I never told anyone what he told me.”

“Not even your wife?” Lassiter asked acidly. 

McNab shook his head. “Not even Francie. And I won't. No matter what, I promised.”

Lassiter looked into his wide, earnest eyes for a moment, and then he nodded once. “Good.”

McNab nodded back. “And I really am. Sorry about whatever happened.”

Lassiter felt very tired then, beyond sick of the whole thing. Maybe they were never going to get over it (over him), and maybe they just still had a long way to go. They'd wanted others to know about the baby—and about them being together—as a way of moving on, but so far this day had only served to make him feel worse. It didn't help that the only other person that could even begin to understand what all of it really meant to them was _McNab_. He wondered how much more work he could get away with doing today before leaving—tomorrow he'd be back on it like a liberal being handed coupons for a vegan bakery, but this day he was absolutely through with.

“Thanks,” he said to McNab, trying to keep his voice from being too short. Big and dumb and soft of heart wasn't exactly the best combination for a cop, but it wasn't entirely all that bad for a person, and as far as Lassiter knew, he _had_ kept it to himself. “Now why don't you go get back to work?”

“Sure thing,” McNab said, and nodded at him again before turning to go. Lassiter sighed and closed his eyes, leaning against the counter and folding his arms across his chest for a moment, collecting himself before going back to his desk to ascertain where each of his cases (and, thus, his workload) currently lay. 

.

Juliet could tell at once when Carlton got home that night that the day hadn't gone well for him. She'd tried texting him earlier, but he hadn't responded, and although that could have meant he was simply backlogged with paperwork or in the middle of a case or on a crime scene, she'd had the feeling that taking the baby ultrasound picture to work hadn't gone nearly as well for him as it had for her. Her first day of officially being pregnant to her coworkers had been wonderful, lots of people stopping by her desk to give congratulations and to wish her luck, to ask the right questions (“Do you want a boy or a girl?” or “Do you have names picked out?” or even “Oooh, what if it's twins?!”) and when lunchtime had come and gone and no one had asked the wrong questions (pertaining to the baby's father and her relationships), she volunteered the information herself, telling a woman who had once worked in the DA's office—someone who had likely met Carlton, or if not, had at least heard of him—with whom she was having the baby. The other woman had taken a few moments to remember if she'd known him at all, and then it seemed she had, because she gave Juliet a further impressed look and congratulated her again, this time clearly not on behalf of the baby.

Juliet was snuggled into a pair of pajama pants and a throw blanket when Carlton came home, and although he tried to hide the annoyed look on his face as he came inside and sat down, the fact that it had still been there his whole way home and up to their apartment told her how it had gone before he could open his mouth. She sat up and then leaned against him, turning her face into his neck as he stretched one long arm around her back and then down to the sideswell of her breast. She looked up at him, amused, and then he smiled a little.

“What do you want for dinner?” he asked.

“Mmm... something truly horrible,” she said. She'd had the requisite salad full of dark greens and grilled chicken, a yogurt, and big glass of milk for lunch, and now she was in the mood for something terrible and satisfying. She considered the options while the edge of his hand absentmindedly caressed the side of her breast. “I want... Hamburger Helper,” she said at last. “And the garlic bread that's in the freezer. And an apple,” she added to his dubious look. “And while you're making it, you can tell me why your face looks like that.”

He shrugged. “I think it has something to do with my father.” She poked him in the ribs, and he gave her a small smile before standing up again. “I'll get changed and meet you in the kitchen.”

While he fried the hamburger and boiled the pasta, he told her about Officers McNab and Pierce, and then Detectives Antillo and Claremont, and what each of their reactions to the ultrasound picture on his desk had been. She could tell he was holding back exactly what Claremont had said, but when he gave her the abridged version, she said that she almost wished Buzz had let Carlton go long enough for just one knock in the jaw. She was glad she was no longer there, although she didn't like that Carlton was having to deal with the things people said and thought. She was surprised when he went on to tell her about the conversation he'd had with Chief Vick—surprised enough that she looked up while slicing her apple and almost sliced into her finger. 

“I wasn't sure at first if I should tell you,” he said, looking contemplatively at the pan of hamburger he was draining. “But keeping things from each other has never worked out, and besides, you should be aware. I realize that I said too much, but it was a highly stressful situation, and it doesn't seem like it really matters now, in any case. I mean, it _matters_ ,” he said quickly, glancing over his shoulder and seeing her face. “But she didn't say much, and nothing's going to come of it.”

“It's fine,” she said softly, although she wasn't sure if it was or not. Again, she was glad she'd transferred out and that her relationship with him wasn't going to erupt. They both knew what a lot of the others there would think, especially those who had known she and—and Shawn had been together and for so long. Hopefully Carlton was right, and his view on how much of their business was public was well-known now. 

As he stirred the hamburger into the noodles and sauce, Carlton told her about Buzz coming to find him in the break room while he was trying to get himself back together with a cup of coffee. “He looked like he meant it,” he said slowly. “And I managed to tell him thanks and get him back on his way. But it got me thinking.” He glanced over his shoulder at her again. “Got that table ready?”

“Yes.”

He brought the pan over to the island and tipped the contents into a serving bowl, then set the pan in the sink. Juliet followed him into the dining room with her sliced apple on a saucer and the garlic bread on a plate. They sat down and served themselves, but instead of tearing into the horrid-looking but great-smelling gloop she'd requested, she nibbled at one piece of her apple and looked at him, waiting for him to tell her the rest of it, because she was certain that there was more.

Carlton selected a piece of garlic bread and used his spoon to put some of the Helper on it. He took a few bites, then set the bread and his silverware down, used his napkin to wipe his lips, and looked at her. “I don't know how cost-ineffective it would be,” he began slowly. “And as much as I hate it, I think I'd actually rather go through it again in order to start over in a new place. One that's just ours. One our baby will come home to.”

She blinked. “You want to move out of here?”

He nodded.

She barely needed a moment to think about it herself—there were so many memories here, and although they'd started out so well, they now only made it that much more difficult to move on, to focus on what their lives were now, and what they were soon going to be, instead of what they used to be. “Okay,” she said. “I loved this place... but not anymore. I think starting over in a place specifically for us and the baby is a good idea.”

Carlton beamed at her, always pleased when she immediately agreed with him. “Excellent. Would starting to look this weekend be too soon?”

She looked around the dining room, through the doorway to the kitchen, and her eyes fell on a slight scuff on one of the cupboards... a place one of Shawn's shoes must have made when he hopped up on the counter and kicked his heels back and forth, his eyes bright and his face alight with his grin. She looked away quickly, down at her food. “No,” she said. “Not too soon at all.”


	27. The Best Part Of Giving Up Is Anger In Your Cup

  
**FEBRUARY 2011**

_Johnny, won't you come back home?_  
 _'Cause everybody knows you don't want to give yourself up_  
 _Tell the truth and God will save you_  
—My Chemical Romance, “[Bulletproof Heart](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rxaXSo7Reco)”

  
Lassiter sat at his sister's kitchen table one rainy Saturday; he was spacing while Juliet played with his nephew in the living room and Lauren chattered about some film project she was working on. He had tried to pay attention to her, but she could tell he was preoccupied (and that, to be honest, he could care less about film editing). She easily changed the subject over, and he loved her for being able to read him so well but not rubbing it in his face. She'd grown up so much in the last few years; she had found her place in life, she was happy with her marriage and her child, and he was truly happy for her. The spoiled brat.

“Juliet is showing really nicely,” Lauren said, smiling fondly. “I remember that stage—it was all roses. The morning sickness was over, my feet hadn't swollen six sizes too large, the baby was just starting to move around—enough that I could feel him, anyway. Mike couldn't yet—that'll be another month or so—but it was one of the best things I've ever felt.” She paused and studied her brother, who had been listening, but without much in the way of response. She frowned. “Carlton?”

“What?”

“Is something wrong?” she asked softly. “You both should be happy, but I can see that you're not. You two don't look like a happy couple expecting their first child.”

“We don't?” He thought about it and knew she was right. One of the happiest experiences that their lives could ever offer still felt hollow, no matter how much they tried to distract themselves. “The baby is great,” he said. “We _are_ happy. We've both always wanted children, and although our lives have taken some twisting and turning, it's happening now and we're glad. We're discussing names, she's set up an education savings account already, and... we're moving. We need a place with more space.” They also needed a place that didn't have so many reminders, so many memories, of him. _Shawn_ , he thought, his shoulders slumping a little. It was getting harder to even think his name after so long, and he still hadn't decided if he wanted to hold onto it, to just be happy for the time they'd had while they'd had it, or to let it go and allow all of it to fade, to melt like panes of ice in a sunny window that looked out on the future. 

The future without him.

Lauren reached forward and clasped one of his hands with both of hers, and when he looked at her, he saw that she was very concerned. “You are _not_ happy,” she said. “You're saying it, and I can tell you're trying to feel it, but you're not. Either one of you. What is it? What happened, or what went wrong, or what's going wrong? You need to tell me.”

Maybe he did—the only one with whom he could talk about any of it was Juliet, and she seemed to want to try to forget now, to let go and move on, although any time he'd observed her being reminded of _him_ in any way, it upset her so much that he'd avoided everything that might trigger a memory for the last two months. Since Christmas, about the time they'd looked at each other and known it: he really wasn't coming home, coming back to them. Shawn had been gone for four months and they were still not sure how to feel, how to reboot their lives. They went on each day and tried to smile, to love each other and to look forward to the future; they were going to be parents in four more months, both of them realizing a nearly lifelong dream. First they needed, somehow, to start dreaming again instead of merely sleeping. If there was anyone he knew that he could talk to, with a hope of his confidante being understanding, it was his little sister.

“Do you remember last Christmas—not the one that just passed, but '09,” he said slowly, eyes on the surface of the table. “When you realized I was in a relationship, but I didn't want to talk about it?”

“Yes,” she said. “I assume that's why Juliet transferred? Is there still backlash?”

“No, it's...” He took a deep breath and forced himself to meet her eyes. “Lulu, do you remember asking if the person I was seeing was a guy?”

“Yes,” she said again, frowning slightly in confusion. “But—it was Juliet, you said so then.”

“Yes, I was with her then,” he said. “And we... both of us... were also with someone else.”

She still looked confused. “You both had two relationships?”

“No, it was... we were all one relationship. Together.”

She blinked. “Like—like three people all together with each other?”

“Yes,” he said, and waited.

Lauren blinked a few more times, taking that in, and then she shook her head. “Wow. Okay. So... that person was a guy?”

“Yes.”

She looked at him for a long moment, and then she squeezed his hand again when he just watched her. “So, what's wrong?” she asked. “It didn't work out? He's causing problems?”

He hesitated. “You don't find it weird?”

“You're my big, dorky brother,” she said. “Even though I've always looked up to you and admired you, everything about you is weird. I never expected you would be into a triad, but I remember how happy you were then.” She paused. “What's happening with your guy?”

“Nothing now,” he said softly. “That's the problem. He's gone.”

In the living room, Nicky started wailing, and Lauren took her hands back. “Just a second, don't move.” Lassiter leaned forward and rested his forehead against the heel of his hand, staring at the table and hearing his sister comforting her child and assuring Juliet that he often had a breakdown when the block towers anyone built with him fell over. Lauren came back and resumed her seat. “Tell me everything,” she said, her face expectant in the _little sis gets her way_ mode. 

So he tried, starting with the fact that the guy in question had been Juliet's boyfriend, and that he'd spent the night with them when he'd come back for her wedding. She looked amused at that but kept quiet, for which he was grateful; having never spoken to anyone about all of it before, he wanted to just get it out sans interruptions. He told her a very abridged version of how they'd closed their open relationship except to him, and how it had grown from a once or twice monthly visit to a strong emotional connection, but that he'd almost deliberately ignored it—they all had—until the other two had been in danger and he'd finally realized that he was in love with both of them, that he needed to either not intrude into their relationship any longer or to become a part of it. 

“That's why you came back,” Lauren said, looking impressed. “Isn't it? To be with them full-time?”

“Yes. There were other reasons, but mostly to be with them.” He sighed heavily. “And it was good. We were happy, it was working. We—we loved each other. A lot.” At that, she reached her hand across the table to him again, and he took it, though most of his focus was on the pattern of the tablecloth again. 

He told her about how rumors had started, how they'd dealt with them, how they'd moved in together and celebrated an entire year together. He hesitated when he got to the part where Juliet had gotten pregnant and the blowout that had followed, but he'd already been talking for nearly half an hour and she was still patiently listening, her expression encouraging and not judging. He told her as much as he thought he could without breaching the deepest trenches of privacy the three of them had shared, though it was difficult when it came to the reasons Shawn had left, and then how he and Juliet had been trying so hard, and for months, at first to wait for him to come back to them, and now to try to get on with their lives without him.

“No news at all?” she asked softly, when he'd finally stopped talking and there was silence in the kitchen for a long moment. “He hasn't contacted the friend he ran his business with, or his father—”

“I _really_ doubt it,” Lassiter said, sneering. “His father was part of the problem. I don't know exactly how he found out or what was said between them, only that Shawn seemed to think it likely he was going to cause problems for us, so it was another tick in the 'pro-leaving-town' column for him.”

“Did you and Juliet look for him? In the database, or whatever?”

He sighed. “Of course we did—I did, at least, and I'm pretty sure she did. At first I checked everything I could think of for nearly a week, and then every few days... once a week... until around Christmas. We thought... well, we hoped. Guster came to see us then, and it came up that he hadn't heard from him at all either. I've tried a few times since then... still nothing. He doesn't want to be found, and if someone as smart as him really wants to disappear, it's possible.”

“I'm sorry,” she said sympathetically. “The whole thing... it just sucks.”

“It does,” he agreed dully. “We... both of us. We loved him so much.” Lauren squeezed his hand again. “But... we both know that we need to just move on, especially with the baby on the way. So far, we just... haven’t been able to. Maybe after we get moved out of the apartment he lived in with us.”

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

He tried to smile and almost made it. “You're helping, Lulu. I haven't—I don't know anyone I could have talked to about any of this. And Juliet was very excited to come here today and spend time with your son.”

“You're both more than welcome to come up and visit us any time at all,” she said, and then grinned quickly. “And if you and Juliet ever want to babysit Nicky overnight or for a weekend, you know, just to get an idea of what it's really like to have a baby around for more than just a couple of hours, Mike and I can totally make that happen. We certainly wouldn't be gallivanting off to a four-star hotel sans baby, not us.”

He snorted. “Say that to her and you might not ever get your rugrat back.”

“Cool, I'll trade up for yours—the younger models are what's in these days.” She flashed him another smile and then patted his hand as she stood up. “I'm going to check on him; be right back.”

Lassiter got up to refill his coffee while she was gone, and when she returned and they sat back down, she frowned slightly at him. “What?” he asked.

“Umm... well, just, something you said.”

“Which was...?”

“You said you guys _loved_ him—past tense. Is that just because it's been so long since you've seen him, or...?” She raised her eyebrows when he made a frustrated noise. “Are you angry?”

“Of course I'm angry, he _left_ us,” he said sharply. 

He glared into his coffee, thinking that it was somewhat of a relief to finally say that part of it aloud, and that, of course, his sister had seen it so easily. He'd tried to hide it from Juliet, but it had started to slide toward the surface more and more in the last few weeks, and when he turned it inward it only served to make him more depressed and lost. 

“Juliet said it right away when Guster brought us his goodbye note: he didn't have to do that. We didn't even know he was thinking of it. I'm pretty sure it was an almost spur-of-the-moment thing—he was impulsive like that. He was probably already thinking of it, and then his asshole father happened—motherfucking Henry Spencer and his 'if you're not seeing it my way you're blind as well as stupid'. Then things just lined up right—or wrong—and that was it. Of course we don't _know_ , because he didn't even talk to his best friend about it beforehand; he just, apparently, threw some clothes in a bag and hopped on his bike and took off, leaving us with nothing but a fucking note saying, 'boo hoo I made a mess of things but instead of trying to clean it up I'll just blow town and leave you with it, leave you without having any idea of where I am or what I'm doing, to try to get over me and move on with your lives even though you have no idea how'.”

He clenched his teeth so tightly together that his jaw ached. Of fucking course he was angry; so angry that, even though he'd spent a lot of time in the last few months (especially within those first few weeks) trying to think what he would do or say, when/if Shawn came home, or when/if he found him, that he'd never gotten far past 'kiss him' and 'kill him', and he'd never decided in which order. He'd envisioned hugging and holding Shawn so tightly that the little fucker wouldn't be able to breathe or to break away, _to never go away again_. He'd thought of kissing him, of seeing his sheepish grin and guilty eyes darting down to the ground, one thumb hooked into his jeans pocket while the other rubbed the back of his neck and said that he was sorry he was so late. He'd thought of Juliet crying with relief and happiness and rushing into his arms, then slapping him across the face— _late indeed!_

As more weeks had gone by, his occasional wanderings down this path came more and more to punching him in the mouth and then hauling him up off the ground to hold him. At least once he'd considered slamming the door in his face if he ever heard the doorbell and answered it to see him standing there. He wanted to be gone, to break their hearts and leave them lost? Bye! But then how long would it be before he would open the door again, grab Shawn by his stupid gelled hair and yank him inside, listening to his whining excuses and looking at his pleading face? How long before his fury would dissipate and he could only say _you're an idiot_ and _how many times have I told you to take your damn shoes off at the door_ and _I... fucking... **missed** you_. 

“Do you still love him?” Lauren asked.

“Yes,” he muttered. “And I know Juliet does too. But I'm still angry. I honestly don't know what I'd do if I—if we ever see him again. I... I really think we won't, though. It's been so long, and we've heard nothing.”

“Maybe more time is all you need,” Lauren suggested softly. “I know it's been months, but it's not just all one chunk of time: first you were expecting—and then hoping—that he'd come back and you could fix it and everything would be like it was. Now you're not only getting over him going, but trying to get over that period of time when you were heartbroken but still hoping. To feel both of those things is horrible. It's understandable that you're angry.”

“Time doesn't heal wounds, kiddo,” he said dully. “Whoever said that was full of shit.”

“It does help there be distance, though, and sometimes, if that's all you can get, it can be enough.” She gave him another sympathetic look. “Part of the problem is that you don't want to let go of what you had, that you're not ready to.”

“I don't know how. It's just... been hard. I was never so happy, never thought I had exactly what I wanted or what I needed, and now...” He lifted his hands and then let them drop to the table, where they clunked and then lay like dead things. This was the lowest point in his life, mixed up with what should have been the highest; anger and heartbreak and loss and guilt and the hope that stubbornly refused to give up dreams of those hazel eyes coming back to them, all of it twisted and mixed up and keeping parts of him separated. His heart was divided and he didn't know if it would ever be whole again. He wanted that so much, for himself and for Juliet, for their child, for their lives together. Would that part of them that was Them _ever_ let go? Could the past just... be passed?

Lauren reached for his hands again, squeezed them in hers. “I'm so sorry about this, I really am. I wish you told me sooner, but I guess I understand why it's not the sort of thing you go around telling people, and we were never all that close because of the age difference. But I'm here for you now—and for Juliet. If you need anything, from someone to talk to or listen to you, or if you just want a distraction, or if you guys want to borrow Nicky to help get you ready for your baby—anything, Carlton. I know it's going to take time still, but I know, I _know_ , that you're going to be happy again.”

“Thank you,” he said, gratefully squeezing her hands back. 

She suggested they go into the living room then, and he followed. Juliet smiled and laughed as she played with Nicky; Lassiter watched her, tried to smile back at her, and he hoped that his sister was right.


	28. Names, Blames, and Shames

**MARCH 2011 ******

“Lily,” Carlton said.

Juliet thought about that and nodded, writing it down on the piece of stationery. “I like it. How about Melinda?”

“Maybe.” He looked slightly annoyed again. “Are you sure you don't just want to know the sex? It would make all of this happy crappy so much easier.”

She shook her head firmly. “Nope. I'm letting you tell people anything from 'we're expecting a dinosaur' to 'we're calling him Jedidiah', I get this much.”

“Yesterday you told our server at the restaurant that it was a Jedi,” he pointed out.

She shrugged. “I was meeting you halfway.”

“Uh huh, and what part of compromise was you showing me the prototype of the birth announcement saying that we'd had quadruplets and they were all named Ronald?”

“Your favorite president—I almost considered putting 'Barack' in there, but I didn't want you to have a coronary,” she said sweetly. 

He huffed. “That's still the stupidest name I've ever heard.”

Juliet patted her growing bump. “Don't worry, little Aggememnar, I'll get him turned around.” She looked up and grinned at his incredulous face. “Aggememnar O'Hara, so classy.”

“Would that be for a boy or a girl?”

“Either.” She widened her grin. “I'm thinking of nicknames, too—Aggie for a girl, Memnar for a boy.”

“Right,” he said, and stood up. “I'm looking at the amnio test results again.”

“No, Carlton, don't you dare!” She'd had her doctor use a pen to block out the part of the sheet that stated the baby's sex, but she was sure that if he looked closely enough—or if he called the doctor or the clinic, and requested another printout of the test—he'd find out. “We're going to find out at birth, you agreed.” She indicated the pad she'd been using to write down their suggestions. “I'll be serious, okay?”

He sat back down. “Lily for a girl, Hank for a boy. Done.”

She gave him a look. “You have to be serious too.”

“I am!” He looked confused and then wounded. “Hank was the name of someone very important to me while I was growing up, what's wrong with it?”

She almost brought up the fact that Hank was usually a nickname for Henry, and what negative connotations the name had for her now, but this was a day and age in which people could name their children any damn thing they pleased, so a nickname as a first name wasn't out of the question. “Nothing,” she said, and wrote it in the BOY column. Then she paused, thinking of the men and boys, and of the women and girls, that had been important to her in her life. “I like Maren,” she said cautiously. “That was the name of a friend in Miami, the officer that told me to go for my dream of becoming a detective.”

“Maren O'Hara?” Carlton rolled the sound of it around, considering. They'd decided to go with her last name, since they weren't getting married (and even if they were, she was still pretty sure she'd want to keep her name), O'Hara-Lassiter was going to be too gangly, and, although they hadn't directly spoken of it, neither wanted the chance that their child would end up with the shortened-name nickname that Carlton had borne for awhile. “Okay, I like that. Not as much as Lily, however.”

She smiled and wrote down her choice. “As for a boy name...” She paused again. “What about... my nephew? The one that my family lost.”

He looked a little doubtful. “That wouldn't bother your brother?”

“No, I think it would make him happy.” She tried to smile, remembering the little boy's gap-toothed grin. “It would make me happy, too. To remember him like that.”

Carlton moved closer to her and put an arm around her. “What was his name? Drake?”

“No, Drake was my brother's firstborn, he's almost eleven now. Their younger son was Finn. Well, Finnick, actually... but almost everyone called him Finn.”

He nodded slowly. “Finnick O'Hara. I can see it.”

Juliet raised her eyebrows. “Lily for a girl, Finn for a boy?”

He kissed her. “Deal.”

.

Lassiter was so shocked at seeing his face in the police department that he almost didn't recognize who he was looking at for a few seconds. Then his good mood was gone, replaced with wariness and irritation and anger. What the hell was _he_ doing there? What right did he have? What _possible_ reason?

Lassiter had just come back from a crime scene—a murder that the officers who had arrived first on scene stated was simply a mugging gone wrong, but he knew better, he could see past what they couldn't, to patterns and priors—and was on his way to report to the chief before applying for a warrant to bring in one of the city's known drug kingpins. He swerved over to his desk when he saw a paper face-down over his keyboard, and he quickly skimmed a memo from Yoshida about a court date before laying it over another pile of crap he meant to get to when he had time. 

When he looked up, he saw the man down the hall: balding, sour-faced, shirt loud enough to embarrass Jimmy Buffet.

Henry Spencer.

Lassiter glared at him from his place by his desk, and when Henry saw him and gave him a cool look back, folding his arms and setting his stance, Lassiter decided he was well within his rights as an actual on-duty police officer to escort this _civilian_ off the property, unless he had any sort of official business, which Lassiter extremely doubted. 

He walked directly up to him and set his hands on his hips in the way that he knew showed off his badge. Henry simply watched him come and then just looked at him when he stopped, his face bland but his eyes slightly narrowed. Henry's posture could be construed as defensive, the way his arms covered his chest, while Lassiter knew that his was now the more dominant one, his openness more authoritative, as well as how he towered over the other man.

“Spencer,” he said.

Henry didn't budge. “Lassiter.”

Lassiter clenched his jaw and narrowed his eyes, resenting this man; for all the good he'd done with his own badge, in his time, he'd caused so much damage with his one-track mind and his demands that anyone he saw as underneath him bend to his will. “Do you happen to have any official business here, Spencer?” he asked in a low voice, wanting to remind him that his days of official were long over. 

Henry just continued to look at him for a long moment. Then he tilted his head slightly, seeming to drop a shade over his eyes even though they were still. “I guess not,” he said, almost too low for Lassiter to hear. 

That was surprising. What was even more surprising was his movement a second later: he took a step back, unfolded his arms and stuck his hands in his pockets,. Then he turned toward the exit, as if he was just going to leave.

Lassiter was confused, and then he was angry again. “It's your fault he's gone,” he said, his voice also quiet, his words coming quickly and then, instead of fading away like most remarks to a person's back, they hung in the air. 

Henry turned back, and Lassiter crossed his arms firmly, glaring at him again and almost daring him to debate the point. He imagined what he would do if Henry did want to argue about it. Perhaps shove Shawn's goodbye letter in his face, the part that said _If I'm not here, not a part of it, he can't do anything to them_. Oh, let him try. 

Henry didn't seem interested in debating, or fighting, or maybe having the point proved to him. After a long moment, he turned away again and walked quickly to the door, leaving without another word or another glance. Lassiter let his arms fall to his sides, not sure what that meant, if anything. Not sure what to do about it. Nothing, it seemed. Why the hell _had_ Henry come here? 

Lassiter returned to his desk and his computer, trying to find out, but he could find no results, no reasons. As far as he could tell, drudging up everything he knew of Henry's personality, it was completely unlike him to give up like that, to just leave an accusation of that magnitude. He tried to remember everything he could about the other man's posture, his eyes, any ticks or tells indicating more of his state of mind than he'd let on verbally. Goose egg—the man had been a cop, a detective himself, and he was the one who'd trained hyper-observant Shawn to be the detective he'd turned out to be. All Lassiter was left with was Henry's silence, his apparent ability to face him but to not say anything, to back down and leave when he was challenged. Lassiter knew it must mean something, especially considering how unlike Henry that was, but he didn't know where to go with it.

 _Shawn has disappeared from all of our lives and you're to blame_ , Lassiter had basically told him. _You drove him away before, and you've done it again. Congratulations; this time it looks like he's really never coming back. And he was happy. We were happy._

Silence had been Henry's rebuttal, his back and his exit more in the vein of defeat than objection. 

Good. Lassiter decided that it didn't matter, that he didn't care. He and Juliet were finally, finally getting over their hard times: their child's name chosen, Juliet smiling and laughing and holding his hand over a spot where he could feel small tremors within her as the baby moved, an offer through a realtor for a house they'd looked at and loved. She was very visibly pregnant now, her food cravings becoming more constant and more random, starting to buy baby clothes and other items even though they were supposed to be packing non-essentials (their realtor had told them they could have an answer on their offer any day now). 

Next month they would get more ultrasound pictures, and Juliet had agreed that if they could tell the sex by then, she would give up her ridiculous romanticized ideal of only knowing for sure at birth. Lauren was organizing her a baby shower for her three weeks before her revised due date. Lassiter had arranged for one week of time off prior to her due date and two weeks after, to take care of Juliet, and then to take care of Juliet and Lily-or-Finnick. Moving on. Getting better. Happier as each day went by, soon to be their own family. There was simply no room for anything that didn't matter or pertain to that, and Henry Spencer's pointless dramatics fell in that category. If his own house and his own life was empty, whose fault was it? 

Lassiter saw Chief Vick enter her office from the hallway that led down the stairs, and he got up to give her his report on the crime scene he'd investigated earlier. On his way to the judge's chambers for his warrant, he texted Juliet that he loved her and that he loved their baby. He didn't tell her about seeing Henry.  


  


**APRIL 2011**

Spring in Santa Barbara was beautiful, Juliet thought, especially at sunrise. She sat on the balcony with a cup of tea and looked at the mountains in the distance, a haze of ground mist near the marina, the headlights of early commuters and people headed to work. The air was crisp and smelled like clean flowers, only part of that wonderful scent coming from her still-damp hair.

The sliding door opened behind her and Carlton came out. “No,” he said. “Git. You're not allowed out here.”

“It's okay, let him out,” Juliet said, and then turned to hold her hand out to Siddy, who was near the door and arching his neck up to smell the air, but who was stopped a good foot from the door frame, his eyes wide. Juliet settled back into her chair, unconcerned, and blew on her tea before sipping it. Carlton ignored the cat and the door, sipping his coffee and gazing over the scenery himself. “I'm going to miss this,” she said after a moment.

He glanced at her. “What?”

She gestured to their tiny patio. “The balcony. It is nice to be able to sit out here.”

He shrugged. “It'll be just as nice on the deck at our house.”

“True... it won't be as nice of a view, though.”

He leaned forward to set his coffee down, and then he scooted his chair close enough so that he could slide on arm around her shoulders and lay his palm over the baby. Seven months. She felt like a cow, or possibly like someone who had a tapeworm. Her center of gravity had changed so quickly and drastically that she was glad she had background as a skater, or her balance may have been severely threatened.

“We're going to have a back yard,” Carlton reminded her softly. “This one's going to be able to run and play in it, as soon as we get a fence put up and I have the soil analyzed for chemicals.” He smiled at her exasperated look. “I think the view is going to be just fine,” he said. 

She smiled at him and leaned her head forward so that he could kiss her forehead. “I think you're right. I'm so glad we finally settled and we'll be completely moved in next month. I can't wait to get started on the nursery. I'm still narrowing down my theme and color-combination ideas.”

“You go ahead and do that, I'll take care of everything else.” Carlton stood up then. “I stuck some muffins in the oven before coming out here—they should be warmed now. Do you want butter or jam?”

“I'd like the rest of the peach preserves Althea sent home with us last weekend, actually.”

Carlton nodded and went back inside; Juliet stood up, going to the balcony rail and putting her hands on it, turning her face into the sun. The baby kicked, either because she was hungry (meaning, they both were), or because early morning was a mostly active time. She laid a hand over her huge belly and smiled, looking over at the mountains again and breathing in the cool, sweet smell of the air. She felt as she often did when taking a few minutes in the mornings out here before work: fresh, clean, hollowed out and ready to be filled with something bright. Her body was full with her baby, her heart was full of love for the baby and for Carlton; her mind, however, while full with little details like the upcoming move and the nursery and how much they still had to prepare, was clear and open, ready for whatever came next.

“Good morning, I love you,” she told her child, taking one hand off the rail and gently rubbing where a foot or a hand was pushing on her. The sliding door opened again and she heard a tray being set on the small table, and before she could turn Carlton came up behind her, wrapping both arms around her and their baby as best as he could, his chin on her shoulder. He kissed her neck and she smiled again, closing her eyes and resting her hands on top of his.

.

Spring in Santa Barbara was beautiful, he thought, but not as beautiful as she was. Nothing could ever compare to how beautiful she was. Fuck the summer's day, fuck the white icing light of the moon across the still lake, even fuck the artistic way some people could pile on eleven herbs and spices to make the best fried chicken known to man. Fuck the stars and the sun, fuck finding money on the ground, fuck the adoring crowd with all of their eyes on the man with the answers, because there was really only ever one answer: her.

Juliet.

He watched her, how she stood at the railing of the balcony and looked up at the sky, how she caressed her stomach and breathed in the air, the set of her shoulders telling no stories of pain and stress. He could tell she was happy and he smiled, not caring that he felt like crying. She didn't see him. He couldn't let her.

The door behind her opened and Lassiter came out, carrying some food. He set it down and then he hugged her from behind; now both of them were smiling and happy, loving each other. Good. That was how it should be: they were happy together, she was going to have their baby soon enough, and all was well. 

Well, not really. It was well for them, which was what mattered. Yeah. 

Shawn turned around to go, leaving his spot from under a tree down the street from their apartment. He glanced back just before he went around the corner, making sure they were still there, that they hadn't known he was around. Still there, still together, still holding on. 

Good. 

Fuck. 

When Gus opened his door, he looked shocked and stepped back, all in one movement. “Wow,” Shawn said, closing the door behind him and standing awkwardly on the mat. “You practice that? It was like synchronized doorbell answering. Judges give you nine out of ten: you stuck the landing, but you're gonna catch flies.” He reached forward and slid his hand underneath Gus's hanging jaw, closing his mouth for him.

“I— _Shawn!_ You dick!” Gus stepped forward and threw his arms around Shawn hard, squeezing him and then letting him go when he felt Shawn tense up. “I don't hear from you for two months and you just show up at seven o'clock in the morning?” Gus looked distressed. “I can't call off from work today, I _need_ to make these appointments.”

Shawn shrugged, looking everywhere except at his friend's miserable face. “That's cool. I'm, um, I'm not staying.”

Gus froze. “Not even for one day?” he asked, his voice small. “Shawn—please. Just one day. It's been so long. I kept my promise, okay? I didn't tell anyone I saw you in January, and I didn't tell anyone that you called me on your birthday and demanded I sing to you.”

Shawn made a face. “Dude, you were drunk as a skunk and you sang that stupid 'Jeremiah Was A Bullfrog' song, that hardly counts.”

“Does so count, it's called 'Joy To The World'.” Gus folded his arms. “And why do you think I was drunk on your birthday?”

“The whole world celebrates with me?”

“I will slap you in your face,” Gus said, and damn, he really looked like he was thinking about it. Shawn shrugged again, thinking that if he did, he certainly wouldn't be the first one who wanted to. Gus sighed and pointed at the couch. “Sit down, I'll get you some breakfast. I assume you didn't have any.”

“Ate a few bugs on the highway,” Shawn said, but he sat, swinging his backpack down by his feet. “Thought you needed to get to work?”

“I don't need to leave for another hour.” Gus gave him a stern look and Shawn shrugged a third time, putting his feet up to indicate he wasn't going anywhere. Not yet, at least. 

Shawn leaned his head back against the sofa and sighed deeply while Gus opened and closed the fridge. He was tired, his body ached, he needed a shower and a shave, and although he hadn't eaten since the day before yesterday, seeing them this morning had put such a twist in his guts that he felt like puking, like leaning over the side of the world and heaving until his heart fell out, until he was empty of his pain and his thoughts and the huge knowledge that it was all his fault. Nothing had ever been this fucked up in his entire life; they were happy now without him and it hurt it _hurt_ because he'd left for them, gave them up so that they could be safe and it was so far beyond anything he could fix, especially now that it had been so long. 

Maybe he could have come back at one point, maybe after two weeks when he found himself coming out of a drunken blackout at a no-tell motel at some wide place in the road somewhere on the border between Colorado and Wyoming, no memory except of card-sharking his way into some cash and then blowing it all on booze to try to get rid of his memory, of the way Juliet had looked when she'd told him to get out, that she couldn't trust him. The disgusted, disappointed way his father had looked at him. The way Lassiter—and Gus—were losing their patience with him. Of crying until he passed out every night, waking up to consciousness only long enough to crawl inside another bottle. Maybe he could have gone back when he'd awakened inside a dumpster, with a bloody face, after suggesting to a bar patron that she and her boyfriend take him home with them. That he wanted to be in the middle, that _three_ was a magic number. 

And maybe he could have gone back, gone _home_ , gone back to them, when he'd sat on his motorcycle on the highway on Christmas Eve looking at the sign that said _Santa Barbara 21 miles_. He was cold and his bike was almost out of gas, he was out of money again, and he was so tired of drifting, of half-waking in the night and reaching for them, for anyone, and only finding silence and emptiness. He'd bought it, and he knew it, so he paid for it. He'd pushed on. And on. And on.

Gus came back with what looked like toast and peanut butter, and—praise be to our lord on high, the Dole company—a bowl of pineapple. Shawn's eyes widened and he almost yanked the food out of Gus's hands; Gus let him, sitting down and watching him shove carbs and protein and sweet, cold fruit into his face. 

When he looked up, Gus was patiently holding a wad of money out to him. Shawn dropped his eyes away from it, hating Gus for having to give it to him and hating himself for having to take it. “I don't know what Miss Kitty told you, but that's the hourly rate,” he muttered. “Now, if you want me all night, or for a group scene, we can set up a discount—”

Gus calmly leaned forward and shoved the cash down the front of Shawn's shirt. “I ain't touching that again,” he said, sitting back and putting his hands up. “It touched your nipples, gross.”

Shawn didn't say anything as he fished all of it out, trying to get it together too quickly for his eyes to count it, but while his hands were fast, his eyes were faster. Nine hundred and thirty-eight dollars. Jeez. _Don't be a hateful ungrateful_ , he told himself, and made his eyes climb up to Gus's face. “Thanks, man.”

Gus wagged a finger at him. “Now don't go spending all of that on candy bars and comic books, or you're grounded.”

Shawn snorted and leaned down to tuck the cash into his pack. Gus took the empty dishes into the kitchen, and when he came back he had another burner cell phone in one hand and a twenty-ounce bottle of Coke in the other. He held both of them out and Shawn took the soda. Gus gave him a look and put the phone down his shirt. Shawn waited until it rested against his belt buckle and Gus looked satisfied, and then he retrieved it and leaned forward, setting it gently on the coffee table. “No.”

“Shawn...”

He opened the Coke and took two huge swallows and belched. Delicious sugar and caffeine, just what he needed to get back on the road. “Do you talk to them?” he asked suddenly, studying the code on the inside of the soda cap, which promised Coke Points or an all-expenses paid vacation for a family of four to Disney World some other. He'd always wondered what happened if a family that won it had three kids—did they just pay the difference for the third kid? Did one parent stay home? Did the kids fight to the death for the opportunity to see The Wonderful World of Disney live, the blood of the lesser sibling still underneath their nails like a trophy? What freaks. Just go to Universal Studios, damn. “After Christmas? At all?”

“No,” Gus said quietly. “I didn't get the feeling they really wanted to, after seeing me upset both of them.”

Shawn didn't know what to say to that, so he drank more Coke. He was going to need to use the bathroom before he left—maybe if he was lucky, Gus would even let him use the shower. Gus never bought Mr. Bubble, the killjoy. Sometimes your buds just never got the pure fun of the motherfucking suds. Well, too bad for them. 

“I assume you're not going to go see them,” Gus said softly. 

Shawn closed his eyes for a moment. Her smiling face tilted toward the sky, radiating happiness. Him coming out behind her and holding her, fitting into her. “I did,” he said, his eyes still closed. “I stood outside on the street—they were having breakfast on the balcony. They didn't see me.” His head seemed to gain weight and he let it fall and then hang. “They're happy. I mean, that's what I wanted, right? That is what I want. They don't need me or want me anymore and I'm glad.”

“What the hell, Shawn,” Gus said flatly.

“No, I really am.” He looked up, trying to show conviction he didn't feel. “I know, okay? I missed my chance, any possible chance that I could've come back. They're doing great—they're still together, they love each other, she looks like she's about ready to pop, things are good. I can't fuck that up. I can't, I can't, I can't. Not after all this time, not after how bad I fucked things up for them in the first place. I'm—I mean, if you don't mind, it'd be great to slough off at least my top level of grime, but then I'm taillights.”

“You can be such an asshole sometimes, you know that?”

He leaned forward again and plucked the money Gus had given him out of his pack and held it out. “Want this back?”

Gus flinched away from it like he was Anne Rice and someone had flashed garlic—or good writing—at him. “Quit it, you know I don't. I want you to stay.”

Shawn shrugged. “There's no reason to. There's nothing for me here. All that could possibly do is mess with Jules and Lassy when they got that kid coming. After the wrench I already threw in their lives, I can't pull another one when they have so much else to handle. You know I'll be fine. I'll even try to check in with you more often, okay?”

Gus's eyes flicked to the phone, and Shawn sighed heavily before reaching out and taking it, shoving it into his pack along with the money. Gus looked a little relieved. “I understand you not wanting to throw a bag of scorpions into their slumber party,” he began, and then stopped at the incredulous look Shawn was giving him. “What?” he demanded. “Tell me that wouldn't result in lots of screaming and crying and stinging and some vicious stomping around.”

“I guess,” Shawn said, mystified. “Am I the scorpion?”

“No, you're throwing the scorpions.”

“Why would I throw scorpions?”

“Because they're _Still Loving You_.”

Shawn paused. “The Scorpions are? Then why am I throwing them? Was it _Love At First Sting_?”

Instead of looking annoyed at the diversion from his original script, Gus abandoned the metaphor and simply zipped back into it. “No, Juliet and Lassiter still love you. And I understand that _you_ understand how much grief you caused them by going Audi 5000.” He sighed and shook his head. “I can't make you, and I know it. I wish I could, but I wish lots of stuff.”

“Do you still wish there was a sequel to _Mrs. Doubtfire_? I'm telling you, buddy, _Mr. Doubtfire_ would have just scared the kids.”

“That was you,” Gus reminded him.

“Was not. You suggested Mr. Doubtfire's persona was a fireman for extra irony.”

“Oh, that's right,” Gus said, nodding thoughtfully. 

“They doubted so many fires that the arsonists had the run of the city for awhile,” Shawn went on, not wanting Gus to go on. “It was chaos, a mysterious bra, and a firebug preteen away from stealing the hearts of families all across America.”

“I still don't think it would be likely for an eleven-year-old to actually set fire to the school and blame it on a pack of gang initiations.”

“Dude. Woman wants custody of her kids so she dons a jock strap and an FD jacket, and none of the other firemen notice something's amuck. I don't think we were really aiming for 'likely' there.”

Gus shrugged. “It's San Francisco, who's questioning?”

“Not me, buddy.” Shawn was just about to stand up and head for the shower when Gus grabbed his arm. Crap. He should have known that was too easy. 

“I wish lots of stuff like getting you to realize that you _can_ still come home, Shawn,” he said, his voice low and serious.

“Gus...”

“No. I'm not going to argue with you about it, because I know you won't even think about it until you're ready to believe it might be true. But listen to me, and try to take it with you, because I _know_ it's true. They love you. Hell, _I_ love you—you've always been my family and you always will be.”

Shawn had to drop his eyes again at the sincerity he saw. It wasn't so much that he wasn't ready to believe it, he just... couldn't, because Gus was right: he knew what he'd done to them. He knew what he'd done to himself by leaving like that, and while they had each other and he'd been alone, he at least knew where he was (most of the time), what he was doing (except not really?), and that he was okay (not even close). They'd had to get over not knowing, and sticking together closer, and building back up. He knew he wasn't the center of their damn universe, but he'd known that, at least for awhile, they loved him, both of them. And even though Juliet didn't trust him at the end, she was upset that he didn't say goodbye. If she was over it now, over him, and filled up with her new life, how fucking selfish and sick would he have to be to break into that? More than he could allow himself to be, that's how much. He couldn't be that guy, not after being _that_ guy. If he'd once been their guy... that was in the past, dead and gone, and he had to leave it alone. Leave them alone. 

“I'll think about it,” he said to Gus, and his friend sighed, knowing that he wouldn't, not really. 

“The towels and everything are where they always are,” Gus said, his voice dull again. “I need to get ready to go to work. Are... do you think you might be here when I get back? Stay one day, Shawn, please. You can crash here tonight and I'll get the day off tomorrow. I'll bring home all the Molly Ringwald movies I can rent.”

He wouldn't. Couldn't. But Gus looked desperate, and Shawn knew that if he said that, Gus might do something stupid like skip out on his job anyway to try to convince him to stay at least one night, and then two, and then a week, and then... what? Tell him again that it would be okay that he break in on them? No. Couldn't. 

“You're just going to come back with five copies of _Sixteen Candles_ , aren't you?” he asked.

“I was going to get at least one copy of _The Breakfast Club_ ,” Gus said. “We'll make a ruckus.”

Shawn grinned. “Can you describe the ruckus?” he asked, and Gus held out his fist to be bumped. “I'll tell you what I'm going to do while you're at work,” Shawn said then, and ticked off his list on his fingers. “Shower. Look for your Mr. Bubble. Write a letter to my congressman that all apartments aren't furnished with Mr. Bubble. Shave. Write the Gillette company that all apartments aren't furnished with Mr. Bubble. Write the Mr. Bubble company and ask 'em, 'What's up?', you know, just to be friendly.” He grinned at the small grin on Gus's face and indicated the sofa. “Then I'm gonna lie down here and sleep. I've been riding all night and after I'm Zestfully clean I'm going to catch any Zs I can, along with maybe a few Qs, Rs, and possibly an L or two.” _And then I'm going to get the L out of here_ , he mentally added.

Gus was nodding, and he pointed to the kitchen. “Help yourself to anything you want. I have that phone's number in mine, so I'll call you before I'm headed home to see if you want anything.”

“Okay.” Shawn stood up now, ready to get into the shower so that he could be ready to leave after Gus was gone. Gus stood up too and threw his arms around him again, and this time Shawn hugged him back, not knowing when he'd see his best friend again. 

After Gus had left for work, with one last look thrown back over his shoulder that told Shawn he well-expected to come back to an empty apartment (at least Gus was so used to being disappointed by him that he almost couldn't disappoint him anymore—or he couldn't surprise him, at least), Shawn headed for the bathroom and twisted the shower's taps all the way to hot. He would have wanted to wash his clothes, but he wouldn't have time now, and besides, he had eight singles he could change to quarters and find a coin-op laundry. Tomorrow. After he was well away from Santa Barbara again. 

He stripped off and got in, just standing with his eyes closed and the spray hitting his chest for several minutes. He couldn't close his memory though, couldn't turn off the sight of her, of him, of them together. He'd told himself not to go, to not peek or poke or pry or anything else that began with P, that nothing good could come of it. He'd just wanted one look, one new glance at them to hold in his head and his heart, like salve on a cut, like being warmed when he was so cold.

 _They're happy_ , he told himself now. He whispered it into the water, which wasn't the only cause of the burning he felt, whispered it to the cool tile as he laid his cheek against the wall and the hot water landed on his aching shoulders, soothing them. _She's happy now. They're better. I'm not a part of them any more, and that's good, that's right. They're right, and I'm..._

“Taillights,” he said, and opened his wet eyes.  


  
_You think of sight, reason collides_  
 _Somehow transmitting from space asking you to line up and take your place_  
 _Infinity is a reality_  
 _Life jackets and sympathy, bullshit daydreams_  
 _I know you can't be knowing for me_  
 _And I hope that you're not hoping for me_  
—Something For Kate, “[White](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qEXPHWanwiE)”


	29. Baby Steps

**JUNE 2011**

Juliet's hospital recovery room was filled from floor to ceiling with people, flowers, balloons, and teddy bears. She was exhausted beyond anything she could ever remember, but it seemed to be a good feeling, too; her son lay in her arms, warm against her stomach as he slept and she stroked his cheek. He was so small, and so soft, and so delicate, and so perfect. _I love you_ , she told him in her heart, which felt so full she thought that she couldn't stand it—how could anyone survive this much love? _I will give you everything, sweet boy._

Carlton sat on the edge of the hospital bed next to her with one hand on the back of her neck, and when she looked up at him she saw him gazing down at them with soft eyes, beaming with pride and love. She tried to smile back at him, but she was just... so tired. He met her eyes and for just a moment his happiness seemed to flicker, his smile just a surface thing. She blinked and he was leaning down to kiss her forehead, and when he sat up again and looked toward the door, where Juliet's mother and stepfather were just arriving, his expression seemed to be that of any proud new father as everyone that was close to them exclaimed over their brand new child.

“Congratulations, honey!” Juliet's mother gushed, rushing to her side and giving her a one-armed hug while the other also caressed the baby's head. “He's so beautiful.”

“Small, though,” Lloyd said, and nudged Carlton. “Sure you don't want to throw that one back for now?”

“I think he'll do,” Carlton said, and Juliet gave him credit—after all, he was exhausted too—for keeping almost all of the sarcasm out of his voice.

“What did you decide would be his name?”Juliet's mother asked. “I need his initials so that I can finish crocheting his blanket.”

Juliet glanced at her brother quickly, and she saw him smile at her before taking his wife's hand. “Finnick,” she said softly. “We're going to call him Finn.”

“Oh, sweetheart.” Her mother's eyes filled with tears and then she smiled. “That's perfect. I'm so happy for you.” She beamed at Carlton too. “And for you—you two have your own little family now. You're three, the magic number!”

_Shawn's face, mischievous eyes glinting as he looked between Juliet and Carlton on the second day of their first visit to Carlton in Georgia. They were all a little drunk, all entirely naked, and although it was just beginning for them, it was already so right, so perfect. “Three is a magical number, you know,” he said, grinning. “One-two-three green light!”_

Juliet felt like her stomach had dropped and then disappeared entirely; she gasped in a breath, trying hard to hold onto herself in front of everyone, but she was _so_ tired, and now his face, _Shawn's face_ was there... but not there. He was missing from _their_ three, still missing, still gone, probably forever. When Juliet breathed out again, a storm of tears came with. She bent her head and clutched her baby, holding his new warmth against the still-empty place in her heart, and she cried.

“Oh!” she could hear her mother say. “Oh—sweetheart, it's all right, you've just had a beautiful baby and your emotions—”

“Can we have a few minutes, please?” Carlton's voice, loud and demanding. Juliet tried to breathe slower and to stop her sobs, but as she could hear the soft sounds of murmurs and footsteps of her family exiting, she squeezed her eyes shut tighter and could only see the note he'd left with Gus.

_Maybe there's a reason people don't usually live like this, or not for very long. I can't be three with them anymore. It's just too hard and none of us know what to do. I can do this, though._

The door closed and Carlton was there, sitting next to her on the edge of the bed and putting one hand on her back. She managed to look up at him and saw that his face was drawn, his lips pressed together; when his eyes—now dulled of their light as he relived his own memories—met hers, he leaned forward again and pressed his forehead against hers.

“I love you,” he said, and his hand gently stroked the top of their son's head. “This is different.”

She tried hard again to get a hold of herself, and when Finn opened his eyes and looked up at her, she managed to smile at him. It was important to smile at him, even though his eyes couldn't really focus at just a few hours old. “I'm sorry,” she said then. “I know it's different. And this is good, so good, I'm so happy and I love you, and I love him, and this is just what I've always wanted, and...” she trailed off as he shushed her quietly, and then he kissed her again, his hand still tracing the fine hairs on the baby's soft head. She took a deep breath and held the baby to her, letting his solidity, his reality, heal her. “I'm okay,” she said after a moment. “It was just... my mother's right, all of this emotion swirling around in me, and I'm so tired.”

“I'll go tell them to come back later.”

“No, it's fine, I just—”

Carlton kissed her forehead again and then he bent down to kiss Finn. “Later,” he repeated firmly. “You need to rest, and to sleep, and so do I. They can come back when we have the strength to beat them off with a stick, preferably a sharp stick, maybe even one coated with Raid or D-Con.”

She gave him a look, but she was starting to smile again too. “What have I told you about comparing my relatives to pests?”

“That if I call the Orkin man once more to get a quote for exterminating people I'm going to get taken off their loyal customer discount lists?”

Juliet snorted and then she put a hand behind her ear. “Hark!” she said. “Methinks I hear the dulcet tones of Mother Lassiter calling my brother's wife 'cookiepuss'.”

Carlton looked amused. “Great, I didn't think they'd get here until later tonight. You rest, darling—I'm going to go pull my mother off the innocent. If I don't come back, tell our son I died in battle, like a hero. You say it proudly.”

“See if Althea brought me anything to eat,” she called after him, and he gave her another smile before going out into the hallway and closing her door behind him. Finn squirmed a little and when she looked down at him she saw that his eyes were closed again and he was going back to sleep. “Poor little boy,” she cooed softly. “Being born is hard work.” She stroked his cheek with one finger and smiled. “You look like your daddy, yes you do. Such a handsome little guy.” She kissed him and rocked him gently, humming softly. “Everything's okay now,” she said, mostly to herself. “We love you.” And that was all that mattered, because it was true. That made it okay.  


  


**JULY 2011**

“Attention hog,” Lassiter said flatly.

Lauren gave him a sunny smile and then nodded at Finnick, who was fussing in her arms. “Which one of us are you talking to, Carlton?”

“You,” he said, ignoring Juliet nudging his shoulder as she got up to fix Finn's bottle. “The baby can hardly be blamed for being infantile and screaming when he wants food or for people to look at him. You, on the other hand, have what amounts to two years of being _so_ special because you were the first to get pregnant and the first to have a baby. Now I don't even get one whole month of Mother off my back because she's literally knitting little things, and you announce that you're having a _second_ baby?”

“Thank you,” Lauren said, beaming. “I am special. The baby of the family has another baby, and Mom likes me better than she likes you.” She stuck her tongue out.

“You were an accident,” Lassiter said.

“I was a surprise blessing, like when you find a fifty in your coat pocket from last winter,” Lauren said cheerfully. “And if you really want to know about accidents, I could take off Nicky's diaper and your carpet could tell you all kinds of new things.”

“Don't even think about it!”

Mike burst out laughing. “Age difference or not, you two remind me of me and my sister, and we're twins,” he said. “Ease up there, Carlton, it's going to be great—Nicky and Finn and our little number two are all going to grow up together and they'll all be really close cousins.”

“Um, speaking of number two,” Lauren said, suddenly wrinkling her nose.

“That's my boy,” Lassiter said proudly. “That's a special delivery package just for his Auntie Lulu.”

“Now I regret waiting this long to tell everyone,” Lauren said grumpily. “We should have told everyone the same day Finn was born.”

“Uh huh.” Lassiter got up to get the basket of tiny diapers and wipes and the tube of cream that Juliet kept in the living room. “Get cracking—you're clearly going to have to reacquaint yourself with the diaper-change of the newborn. But if you ever feel like you want to borrow Finnick for a day or so, or over the weekend, Juliet and I absolutely won't make a beeline for a four-star hotel sans baby.” He gave her a huge grin as she settled Finn on the changing pad and rolled her eyes at him.  


  


**AUGUST 2011**

Juliet looked over when she heard Carlton gasp, and she saw him smiling at Finn, who was cradled in his arms. He looked up and beamed at her. “He's smiling at me.”

She leaned over for a closer look. It was true that the corners of the baby's mouth were turned up, but his eyes were closed, and she thought she saw that his legs were pulled up to his chest in a distinctive way. He was going to know for sure in a minute or so, but she thought she might be able to break it to him—gently—first. “He's taking a shit,” she said kindly.

Carlton gave her a look. “I know I'm not great with infant facial expressions, Juliet, but I know what a smile looks like.”

“I do, too, and I've seen that one before. It's gas.”

“No it's not, why do you have to ruin— _ugh_.” He held their son out to her while turning his face to the side. “I should have known,” he complained while she paused the DVD player, stood up, and came around to his side of the bed. “After all, it is the proper response to someone in the household watching _Leverage_.”

She stopped and raised an eyebrow at him. “What's wrong with Leverage? You can't stand it when the big bad pharmaceutical company gets ripped off for killing a girl and snubbing her family?”

“They're thieves, and it makes the police force look like idiots, and it's ridiculous,” he said. “I guess if you like _fairy tales_ before bed...”

Juliet rolled her eyes and took Finn so that she could go change him. A group of Robin Hoods were not fairy tales, they were... vigilantes! “Once upon a time,” she said to Finn, carrying him out of the room, “your daddy applied to the FBI because he wanted to be a spy.” She snorted as Carlton called after her that he'd rescinded his application upon discovery that his talents were better put to use by keeping the local PD in line and going after the sort of everyday criminals the FBI couldn't be bothered with. “Also,” she whispered to Finn as she laid him on his changing table, “he's never more obvious than when he's trying to go stealth. And if you want a great laugh, ask him to do an accent some time. Just a suggestion.”  


  


**SEPTEMBER 2011**

In September, another new photograph in a small frame joined the others on Lassiter's desk near his computer. He'd taken home the one of Finnick's ultrasound after the baby was born, and Juliet had done something motherly with it—pasted it in a book or something. After their son was born she'd gone a little snapshot-crazy, which Antillo had informed him was actually quite common, and although that relieved him a little (his mother hadn't even owned a camera for most of his childhood, and when Lauren came along she'd taken her to have a studio portrait only once a year or so), he couldn't take even a small percentage of her prints to work with him, not with the disorderliness he already dealt with concerning the files and the memos and the criminals he put away on a near-daily basis. He was all right with a small few, he'd told her, but he'd started to dislike how cluttered his desk looked when she pushed him into three.

They were good pictures: her with the baby, both asleep on the bed with the late afternoon sun making her hair glint gold. Him with the baby, his feet up and the kid reclining on his chest while they both watched the nightly news. Finnick by himself, the direct blue of his eyes looking startled, as Juliet had snapped her fingers above her head to get him to look up before she took the picture. 

The new one was the best one, however, and when Juliet offered him the frame with the picture already centered inside, her 'I know you're probably going to say no but I'm trying anyway' look pasted on her face, he found himself deciding that a _slight_ bit of clutter was par for the course now, par for their life with a new baby in it. Lauren had taken the picture: They were standing in front of their house, the clear blue sky in the background, the neatly trimmed lawn with the few tasteful ornaments framing the little family that lived there. Juliet was holding Finn with his back to her, one hand supporting him up and one arm around his belly so that he could look out, and Lassiter had one arm around her back and one hand over hers, over their son.

When he got to work he set that one immediately to the right of his computer, so that it was the easiest to see. The one of himself with Finn he nudged toward the back; all of them and Juliet with Finn, both asleep and looking peaceful and perfect, went to the front of the line. He sat down and looked at them and smiled.

.

Looking at their new place—their _superawesome-looking_ new place—was an exercise in masochism, but that was okay. It was okay because they weren't home, they wouldn't know. He'd just wanted a peek, just one—one more quick look, balm to the scorched part of himself that had remained dry and empty for so long—but it was better this way. Less chance they'd see him or get the feeling of being watched. Less chance that actually seeing them wouldn't be soothing, but would be a thousand tiny knife cuts instead. A guy could hold onto something for a long time as long as it wasn't absolutely proved false to him, and no one knew that better than Shawn Spencer.

Well. Since they weren't home, a peek around the ol' homestead was probably safe. Sure, they'd have a state-of-the-art alarm system, but if he stayed away from the doors and windows he'd be okay. He didn't really need to get that close, not really... didn't _need_ to, no, but they weren't here, they wouldn't know he had been. He hadn't been back to California since seeing Gus in April; he'd been trying— _actually_ trying, since around the time he was sure they would have had their kid—to forget ever coming back, to forget their faces and their voices and their touches. He couldn't, of course—eidetic memory or not, he didn't think a person could ever really let go of what they had lost if it had been something as big as them, as big as what they were. 

Still, he'd tried. 

Still, he'd failed. 

Just one look, then boogie. He didn't know where they were, of course, and they could be back at any time, which would be bad. He really believed that what he'd seen in them that spring had been true happiness, had been the faces of people cutting their losses and getting back into the game. With the addition of their baby, their lives would be complete. He could be satisfied with one look around, and then he could go away again for months, for years. That was a good idea; one last, final look, and then Audi 500,000. That made it all the better that they weren't home; he would take a walk around, glance in just one or two of the windows, hoping for the smallest glimpse, a sliver of what their lives were like now. Then he could make like Huck and light out for the territories. Maybe Aunt Sally would adopt him, too.

Shawn glanced up and down the street and then, before he could think about it, he sauntered across the road and the sidewalk, up the driveway to the car port next to what was probably a kitchen door. He stepped closer and looked through nine panes of beveled glass, squinting to see what he could. A nice kitchen, just like he'd thought: airy, clean, a dish strainer with baby bottles and a few other things sitting near the sink to drip dry. He could see through a doorway to what looked like a living room, and saw another window, but it was toward the front of the house. No matter, he'd already been here too long. One quick glance into the living room, a picture in his mind that he could examine later at his leisure, and then he would be gone.

He had just come around the corner when he saw it, on the ground under the big picture window. It was small, but _huge_ , and when his eyes fixed on what it was he could feel them getting bigger, he could feel his breath slowing and then stopping. Part of him seemed to know what it was before his brain did; the part of himself that did his thinking was frozen, and his body acted without consulting him. He took another few steps forward to get a closer look, starting to tremble as he didn't believe what was there. 

It didn't belong. It was red. 

Red means _stop_. 

So he did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> +soundtrack, "[Chocolate](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pz6orY8SEsU)" by Snow Patrol


	30. Lassiter Investigates a Home Invasion

_Can we talk about tomorrow?_  
 _And the promise that it brings_  
 _I want to be your crystal baller_  
 _I want to show you everything_  
—Third Eye Blind, “[Crystal Baller](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=amj-p5OueoM)” 

  
When they got home, Carlton Lassiter immediately knew that something was wrong. He frowned as he pulled the car into the driveway and shut it off, hearing Juliet telling him something about dinner, but he wasn't listening. He got out of the car and looked at the house. It looked fine, it looked just as it did when they'd left that morning. Nothing was disturbed... except him. His frown deepened as he walked around the back of the car and toward the lawn, feeling something, his instinct, pinging at him hard.

When he got around to the front, barely noticing the quizzical look Juliet threw at him while she bent in the back for the baby and the baby gear, he trained his eyes to the sidewalk and then let them casually sweep up the grass, to the hedges edging the property line between their yard and the neighbors', to the front door and the windows, the little figures and ornaments in the decorative pea gravel that went around flowers Juliet had planted against the house.

And there it was. The thing that was different from this morning, the part that was wrong. One single, certain thing out of place and he felt like he couldn't breathe. He tried to tell himself to take it easy, that it didn't necessarily mean anything, to just go and... investigate. He looked at the path to the front door again, the door itself, the windows.

Juliet had leaned over and was calling his name. “I could use a hand here!” she said. “And I already told you I'm not ready to paint the house yet, not until we're sure what the new roof is going to look like, so please stop envisioning the red, white, and blue trim and come carry either the baby or the diaper bag.”

He dragged his eyes away from what he'd been staring at, what was seeming to grow in his mind until it tried to invade other parts of him, and quickly walked back to the car. He muttered an apology to Juliet and took the handle of Finnick's car seat when she held it out to him, and then he went to the side door, selecting the key and opening it. He stepped to the side so that Juliet could get in with the diaper bag while he keyed in the alarm's passcode on the console. Then, while Juliet went back out for the groceries they'd stopped for on the way home, he set the baby down and hit a few more buttons, accessing the log... and then he stared. 

Someone had been in the house. 

_Someone_ —

—might still be in the house.

“He's going to be hungry soon,” Juliet said, closing the door behind her and setting down the bags. “I'll get him a bottle ready once all this stuff is put away. Did you say what you wanted to have for dinner?”

“I'll be right back,” he said slowly, carefully, so as not to alarm her. “Anything you want is fine.”

“Oh, good, because I wasn't sure if you'd want the leftover lasagna or if you'd be up for grilling some chicken breasts—I've been looking forward to that chicken since we bought it—but the lasagna would be easier to just reheat—”

Lassiter walked into the living room as she continued talking, hearing her in the background as she put away the groceries and said something to the baby. He looked around the living room much as he did the lawn, letting his eyes just casually sweep the area, looking for abnormalities. He didn't have anything close to a photographic memory, but they both cared about the condition of their home and, even though they had a baby, it was almost always neat and tidy. Sometimes there would be a basket of laundry on the sofa (folded but not yet put away), or a blanket on the floor where they'd laid Finnick so that he could wiggle around, stuff like that. But they prided themselves on taking care of things almost immediately; they knew that could very well change once Finn was crawling, walking, once he entered the Terrible Twos, but for now, as he was still largely immobile, they kept order. The surfaces of their tables, the furniture, and their floors were almost always bare and clean. If anything was out of place, he would almost certainly see it.

Everything looked the same as it had that morning. His eyes dropped to the carpet, looking for dirt, footprints. He thought he could see some of the fibers against the grain, against the pattern that always laid them flat after vacuuming, but he couldn't be sure. He kept walking, though, in that direction, toward the hallway, the bedroom. 

He stopped in the doorway of the bedroom he shared with Juliet, just looking. Staring, feeling simultaneously like his body was made of granite, hard and cold and immovable, while his head was filled with helium; empty, light air that wanted to float away.

Out of place? That was going to be the question of the day. He could see it, clearly. Just as clearly as he could see Shawn on their bed, on his back but with his booted feet hanging over the edge so as not to get dirt on the blankets. He was asleep, his hands curled over their opposite forearms like he'd gone to sleep slightly chilly; his head was on his pillow and his cat was lying against his side, purring loudly. 

_Juliet_ , Lassiter tried to say, but he didn't have enough air. He tried again, attempting to pitch his voice low enough so that it wouldn't wake Shawn—no, if he was here, now, and asleep on their bed, she deserved the chance to see him and maybe think what she wanted to do or say, as did Lassiter, before he woke up—but so that she'd hear him in the kitchen without him having to walk back, without having to take his eyes away. 

“Juliet,” he called, watching to see if Shawn stirred. He didn't. “Can you please come here?”

There was a long pause, probably her noticing that there was something in his voice, and then he heard her coo something to the baby. Then there were her light footfalls across the living room carpet and into the hall. He could see her confused face out of the corner of his eye, the way she tensed slightly when she saw how he was standing, realizing that something was going on—she hadn't been a cop in a long time, but her instincts had always been sharp and always would be. He had no idea at all what was going to happen, but he suddenly knew that everything was going to be decided in the next five seconds.

Juliet came to his side and looked into the bedroom. Lassiter felt her freeze beside him, and he felt her lose her air in a hurt squeak that sounded like she'd been stepped on. She looked at him and he saw that her face was so pale it was almost grey, her lips completely colorless, her eyes huge and startled and glassy. She tried to speak—or, at least, her mouth moved—but no sound came out. He just looked back at her, feeling like a marionette whose puppet master had died, leaving his strings dangling. 

Juliet started to cry, her breath coming in quick, soft gasps that she stifled with her hands pressed against her mouth. Lassiter tried to put an arm around her but she tensed, her shoulders coming up and her eyes fixed on their bed. After a moment, he stepped through the doorway and slowly walked over to the side of the bed, his eyes flying over every part of that so loved and so missed person. 

Shawn was much thinner than he'd been a year ago, and quite scruffy. His hair was shorter, too, not long enough to gel and spike like he used to do every day. His clothes were dirty and his nails were bitten, and although Lassiter could now see a pack on the floor near his feet, it didn't look like there was much in it. He raised his head enough to look back at Juliet, but she was still just standing there: still staring, still crying. 

Lassiter took a deep breath, and then he nudged one of Shawn's legs with his foot. “Hey.” Nothing. He nudged harder, still with his foot, not wanting to touch him, not with his hands, not yet. “Shawn,” he said, a little louder, and his name out loud in the room was like an incantation in a forgotten language. 

Shawn's eyelids fluttered, and for just a second, when he was on the border between sleeping and awake, when just a sliver of hazel showed through, Lassiter felt like every part of him was made of glass, transparent and fragile, and that the second Shawn's eyes opened the rest of the way and they pierced him, saw through him and into him, he would break, shatter into pieces. Shawn blinked a few times and then he was awake, his entire body still and solemn, looking up as if he expected to be executed. 

“What,” Lassiter managed to say, pitching his voice low but firm, “the hell do you think you're doing?”

“Um,” Shawn said, and his fingers twitched, anxiously. “...robbing you?”

Kiss him or kill him? Or kick him out, or... or keep him?

“You've already done that,” Lassiter told him, hearing Juliet still crying and thinking of all of the times she'd cried, of the times they both had, of the hope they'd held onto and then lost, that they'd forced themselves to let go of. Forced themselves to move on, because he had left them, taken a fucking powder and _left them_ feeling broken and empty and lost. He'd taken so much of them with him when he'd gone and left them to put it back, parts of their hearts and parts of their lives, as best as they could. For so long there had been nothing from him, nothing about him, he was just _gone_. And now.

And now here he was.

Shawn just continued to look up at him, wary and hurt, seeming as if he wanted to say a great many things—like everything, maybe—but unable to or unsure how. He sat up, slowly, and Lassiter took a step back. Shawn looked down at the cat and rubbed its ears for a moment, and then he nudged it aside, murmuring, “Look out, buddy.” He looked at the doorway, at Juliet, and when his eyes met hers she cried harder, and there was pain on his face, tears in his own eyes. He put his hands down on the bed, as if he was going to push himself up and go to her, and then he glanced at Lassiter again instead. 

“What do I do?” he whispered. “Can I...” He stopped, and hung his head a little, clearly ashamed and confused. “Should I go?” he asked, his voice barely more than breath.

Lassiter wanted to know why the fuck he was asking _him_. He sure as hell didn't get a say the last time, neither of them had. Maybe that's why he was asking now, or maybe it was just because Juliet was actively crying while Lassiter was still on the fence between crying himself, of hugging Shawn and holding him tight tight tight never let him out of their sight again, or of punching him in the face and telling him he needed to get the fuck out, that he'd done _quite enough_ damage to them and _Jesus_ they had only recently learned how to be happy again. But of course Shawn didn't know that—he hadn't been around. He didn't know anything of what their lives were like, what their reactions would be. But he was here anyway. Trying? Wanting to try? Wanting to come back to them, to be home?

It couldn't be decided now, there was too much. Juliet had simply stopped in the doorway and started crying when she saw him—she didn't scream, she didn't storm in and start smacking him, she didn't tell Lassiter to physically throw him out. It was likely that she didn't know what to do either. Kiss him or kill him? She deserved her chance to see which way her heart pulled her. Lassiter looked at Shawn and then, very steadily, he pointed to her. Shawn glanced at her and then back to Lassiter, still unsure. Lassiter didn't move. _Go to her and see what you get._

Shawn licked his lips and then, slowly, he stood up. He walked the few steps to the doorway, stopping close enough to Juliet so that he would be all that she would see, but not so close that she would feel crowded. He understood that he wasn't a part of their space right now. That was good. That was awful.

“Jules,” he said softly, and she flinched. Not because he'd spoken to her, Lassiter was sure of that, but because of the nickname. _His_ name for her. She hadn't heard it in almost a year. Even when Guster had visited them he'd known better than to use Shawn's names for both of them, although he used to use both fairly frequently. Lassiter couldn't see Shawn's face from where he was still standing near the side of the bed, but he could still recognize the line of his shoulders and the tilt of his neck, the way his head was lowered but his face still turned enough that he could look up at her. He was guilty. He was sorry. And he meant it.

Juliet was trying hard now to get herself under better control. She took a breath and wiped at her cheeks, and then she folded her arms under her breasts tightly, her palms cupping her elbows. Defensive. “Jerk,” she said, her voice wavering.

Shawn nodded. “Yeah.”

“ _Fucking jerk_ ,” she expanded. 

“Yeah,” Shawn agreed.

She looked at him, her lips pressed together hard to stop them from trembling, and in that moment none of them seemed to know whether she was going to go kiss or kill. Then she stepped forward, and although Shawn's shoulders tensed—expecting a blow, perhaps—his arms didn't come up to protect himself. She didn't hit him; she slid both of her arms around his back and hugged him, pressed her face into his chest, squeezed him like he was going to fly away again at any minute if she didn't keep her grip. She was crying again, but when she said “Shawn... Shawn...”, he slowly put his arms around her too, bending his neck to rest his cheek on the top of her head. 

“Jules... Juliet,” he said. “I love you. I love you. I'm so sorry, I...” 

From the kitchen, the baby began to wail, and Lassiter moved to go to him, not sure what else to do while Juliet and Shawn held each other. It was likely that in another moment he would be there too, hugging and holding and hearing apologies, but he still didn't know what he was going to do, what he wanted to do. He stepped past them out into the hall, and when he got to the kitchen and sat down in a chair and pulled Finnick's car seat over to begin unbuckling him, he saw that there was a bottle—from the refrigerator, judging by the condensation on its outside—sitting on the counter. Juliet had probably just gotten it out when he'd called her, so it wasn't warmed, and Finn would spit and cry if they tried to feed him cold formula. 

He picked his son up and held him, fishing the pacifier out from where it had fallen between his side and the seat, and stuck it into his mouth. Then he just sat there, listening to the fridge kick on, the soft sounds of the baby, the utter silence otherwise. He couldn't hear anything from the bedroom, no tears or talking. He took a deep breath and rocked from side to side a little, in case Finnick was thinking of spitting out the pacifier and wailing for his dinner again, and could only think _what the hell_.


	31. I Know That You Know That We Don't Know

Juliet would have heard their son crying, of course, and she'd known he was going to be hungry. After a minute or so, she re-entered the kitchen, her eyes swollen and her face a little blotchy, but she was no longer crying. She gave Lassiter one look, one that he thought mirrored his— _what the hell, what does this mean, what do we do—_ before going directly to the counter and picking up the bottle again. She set a tall dish from the strainer into the sink and began filling it with hot water to warm Finn's formula, slowly swirling the bottle around so that the contents would heat evenly.

Shawn came into the doorway to the kitchen and stopped. His eyes were red, as if he'd been crying too. He probably had. His eyes tracked Juliet at the sink, then they went to Lassiter in the chair near the table, holding the baby and looking back at him. Shawn glanced down at the baby for just a second, and then he cautiously took a step onto the tile. Nobody said anything. Shawn looked unsure, and then he took a few more steps, stopped again. He swallowed, seemed to brace himself, and met Lassiter's eyes.

“Lassy,” he said softly, and then Lassiter knew what Juliet must have felt when he used his name for her. He didn't flinch, but he had to break the eye contact, to drop his gaze away from Shawn before both the old nickname and the old hurt went with each other in tandem to punch him in the gut and then freeze his mind while the part of his heart that beat beat beat to keep him in the present flew back to the past and was broken all over again.

Shawn stopped, surely realizing what an effect his presence, his sameness, was having. He tried again, having trouble, and it was no better, because while the nickname was too familiar, his actual name was too foreign. He thought he could count the number of times he'd heard Shawn refer to him by his given name—not including introduction to others—on the fingers of one hand, and he wouldn't even need his thumb.

“Carlton,” he said timidly, and when Lassiter looked up at him, he could see that he also knew that was even worse. His shoulders slumped again, but he kept looking at him. “I'm sorry,” he said then, his voice breaking in the middle and going down to a whisper. “I... I love you.” Lassiter didn't reply to this. Shawn dragged his gaze away to glance at Juliet again, and he saw that she was looking back at him, one hand absentmindedly still swishing the baby bottle around in the hot water to bring up its temperature. “I know,” Shawn began slowly, his voice small and soft, “that doesn't... it doesn't fix... maybe it doesn't matter. What I did...”

He tried to take a deep breath to steady himself, but when he exhaled he still sounded on the verge of tears. His eyes were on the floor, unable to meet either of theirs.

“No excuses,” he said then. “That was so wrong. For so many reasons, and I know that now. I... if you guys want me to get out, I'll go. I won't bother you. I promise. I can't even begin to tell you how sorry... how much I love you.” He swallowed hard and managed to raise his face again, looking back and forth between them. “That's really all I can say. I mean, I can say more, but a lot of it would be pointless, just circular crap that all only boils down to that anyway. I was stupid. I _am_ stupid. I did a stupid thing and I can never make it up. I'm so sorry. I didn't... the reason I didn't—couldn't—contact you for so long is because I didn't want to... to intrude on you. And I'm sorry if I am now. I just... I love you guys. And I'm sorry.” He looked back and forth between them again. “Do you want me to go?”

“No,” Juliet said.

Shawn looked at Lassiter, who didn't trust himself to speak. He pressed his lips together, clenching his jaw, but he kept Shawn's gaze and then shook his head slowly, deliberately. Shawn looked immensely relieved before nodding shortly. “Okay,” he said. “Just... tell me what you want me to do? I'll do anything.”

There was silence for a long moment, and then Juliet said, “We don't know. Shawn, you... almost a whole year. We waited for so long, we hoped, we looked for you. We... we cried for you. We missed you. So much.” He hung his head again and didn't reply to that. Juliet looked at Lassiter, seeming like she was going to start sobbing again, and he shook his head at her, more than almost anything not wanting her to cry any more. She sniffled a little, then twisted the tap for more hot water. “It's going to take time,” she said softly. “For us to even really comprehend that you're here.” She looked over at Shawn. “What is it that _you_ want?”

“Does it matter?”

She thought about it and then nodded. “I want to know.”

“Okay.” He studied his shoes for a few seconds longer, and then he took a breath and looked up. “I want to come back. I know,” he added quickly, “all of the—you guys need time, and you're probably not sure how you feel about me any more, and—and you two, with the baby, your life... I know there's a lot to think about. A lot of it is why I just kept telling myself to stay butted out for so long, to actually never—” He broke off when he saw the way Juliet turned to look at him.

“To never come back?” she asked.

He nodded. “I know I kind of tore apart your lives for awhile,” he muttered, eyes on the ground again. “I'm not saying I think I'm the most important thing in the world, or anything like that, but I know it probably really sucked for awhile. And I can never take that back, much as I want to. If I could go back and change it I would, no matter what else happened. But I can't. You two are the most amazing people I've ever known—the strongest. Once you were okay, I didn't think I could face you. And I knew I didn't want to fuck up whatever good you had going by basically reminding you about me and what I did to you.” He sighed and then looked up again. “What I want really doesn't matter. All I care about is you guys. Yes, I would like to stay. But if you can't do that... or don't want to... then that's it. When I said I'll do anything, that wasn't 'I'll do anything to be with you again'. It's 'I'll do anything you ask of me at all'.”

Lassiter said, “Take your damn shoes off. What have I told you? You're going to get dirt all over.”

Shawn looked at him a moment, and then he nodded and bent down to unlace them. “Where should I put them?”

Lassiter jerked a thumb toward the kitchen door. As Shawn stepped out of his boots and then set them on the mat, Finn started to fuss a little. Lassiter shushed him and rocked him a little, giving him a finger to hold onto. Juliet checked the formula's temperature on the inside of her wrist, then dunked the bottle halfway into the water again. “Almost,” she said.

Shawn took a few more steps back to where he was, his eyes on the baby. No one spoke for a long moment. “Um... what's his name?” Shawn asked.

“Finn,” Lassiter said.

Shawn blinked. “That's... the most Scots/Irish thing I've ever heard.”

“His full name is Finnick Carlton O'Hara,” Juliet said.

“I was wrong,” Shawn said. “ _That_ is the most Scots/Irish thing I've ever heard.” He looked at the baby for another moment, and then he glanced up at Lassiter. “Can I hold him?”

“If you want to,” Lassiter said steadily. Shawn glanced at Juliet quickly, and then he licked his lips and nodded. Lassiter stood up and walked over to him, held his son out with one hand under his neck and back and the other under his butt and legs until Shawn had positioned his arms well enough to take him. Lassiter helped him adjust his arms for a more secure cradle (touching Shawn, touching his skin—it was familiar like touching his own, and strange because it was like touching a part of himself that was no longer dead, but _right there_ ) and then stepped back, watching Shawn study his son's face while Finnick looked up at him, still working the pacifier, his small hands clenched into fists near his chest. Lassiter looked at Juliet and saw a small smile growing there tentatively.

“Wow,” Shawn said softly, and he smiled, just a twitch of his lips. “You're actually really cute. You have, like, giant moonball eyes and your fingernails are transparent. And you're so teeny.” At that moment, Finn seemed to have reached his waiting-for-dinner tolerance and he opened his mouth to let out a long cry, causing his pacifier to fall to the floor and Shawn to look suddenly panicked. “I didn't mean it!” he said. “You're giant! You can beat the crap out of me any day of the week and twice on Meatball Monday!”

“He's just hungry,” Lassiter said, stepping forward again to take him. “Here.” Shawn awkwardly handed him over and then picked up the pacifier; he looked at its bulb and then turned to set it on the counter near the sink to be rinsed off.

Juliet tested the formula again and then turned off the tap. “This is ready; I can take him.” She sat down at the table with a small cloth for spit-ups ready, and Lassiter gave Finn over.

When he stood up, he looked at Shawn again and saw that he had tears in his eyes. “Lassy,” he said, his voice very small. “I know you're mad, but... can I please hug you?”

Mad. For awhile he had been, very much, and maybe shortly in the future he would be again. But seeing him, seeing him _here_ with them and wanting to be back, wanting to stay, saying that he was sorry, that he understood what pain he'd caused them, that he loved them... Lassiter couldn't speak to 'mad'. He couldn't speak to anything. He brought his arms up and then opened them, just a little, just enough for Shawn to fit into him. When Shawn came to him and wrapped his arms around him, Lassiter closed his eyes and knew only the smell of him, the way he laid his head on his shoulder, the solid weight, the feel of him. _Shawn_. He was home.

“I love you, Lassy,” he said, whispering for only him to hear. “I love you, and I'm so sorry I left. You have every right to hate me.”

“You're even stupider than that beard you're trying to grow into if that's what you think,” Lassiter told him.

Shawn laughed, although it also sounded like he was crying a little again. “I know it's stupid. And I know I am too. I'm a complete idiot.”

“That only took you how long to fully comprehend,” Lassiter muttered, and let him go.

Shawn stepped back and wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. Lassiter pointed at one of the chairs on the opposite side of the table and, after a slight hesitation, Shawn sat down, his hands in his lap. He dropped his eyes to the surface of the table when he realized both of the others were looking at him, but again, no one said anything. No one knew what to say, what came next.

The cat came into the room and headed for its dish, and then it slowed, sniffing the air, and Shawn smiled a little. “Siddy-kitty,” he called softly. The cat saw him and then nearly vaulted onto his lap, and Shawn's grin widened into a real one as it put its front paws on his chest, getting up to sniff at his face, and he ran his hands down its sides. “Hi buddy,” he said. “I missed you too, you know. You are one cool cat.” He continued to smile as it settled down on his lap, one hand scratching its ears and the other stroking it from head to tail.

“Shawn,” Juliet said softly, and he looked up at her solemnly. “Why did you leave us like that? We could never figure that out. Just... gone. I know I was mad at you then, but it wasn't... I wasn't going to be mad forever. It wasn't over. Carlton... he told me he told you to come home, and he thought you were. Then, just...” She stopped to sniffle a little again.

Shawn returned his gaze to the table and sighed heavily. He seemed to be thinking and they gave him time. “I was,” he said finally. “I was working up to it, I think. I knew I was still in deep shit, but I wanted to come back so much. I just got all tangled up, with thinking that you said to get out and not call you, so I was waiting for _you_ to tell me I could. Then Gus was all 'just go try, if she kicks you to the curb you just come back here', and I said no, that might make you even madder, that you couldn't trust me because I kept my vasectomy from you for so long and let you think we were going to have kids, and then that wouldn't be respecting you needing space. Then Lassy—” Shawn stopped, his eyes darting to Lassiter, looking unsure. “Um...”

“It's fine,” Lassiter told him evenly. “That's my name.”

Shawn almost smiled, but then he remembered his previous train of thought and licked his lips before continuing. “I just got all tangled,” he repeated quietly. “I couldn't square going home to you before you said I could just because Gus and Lassy said I should. They weren't you. And I wanted to so much that I thought I probably wasn't thinking about it right. But I'd just about decided I would...” He stopped again and let out a breath, and this time his face looked stony. “And then my dad came by.”

“You said something about that in your goodbye letter,” Lassiter said slowly. “But we didn't know what it meant. Something about him knowing? How did he even find out?”

“Ugh,” Shawn muttered. “Apparently... the first time you came to see me, to tell me to come back? You told me I was acting like a whiny kid, and I said kids don't have kid problems, and you told me to get my shit together and come home? Remember?” Lassiter nodded. “Well, _apparently_... Gus's windows were open that day.”

Lassiter suddenly remembered what else had taken place that day, and he looking at Shawn sharply, feeling his ears go warm. If Shawn's father had been listening to _that—_

Shawn knew what he was thinking and shook his head. “Henry told me he'd just come by to see me, and he heard you saying I should come home. He turned into Shithead Holmes and started honing on the 'come home' part and figured out that you were living with me and Juliet. Then from _there_ he decided that meant I was sleeping with you and fucking around on her and my life was out of control and I'm a disgusting freak who can't give up the gay side.” His expression darkened further. “And then he said he was going to tell people at the PD that you were sleeping with us, because you should know better.”

Lassiter clenched both of his fists. He _knew_ he should have punched Henry in the face, or put bear traps on his deck. Juliet had made him stop keeping a shit list over two years ago, but he didn't need one anymore, as he could keep it in his head. At the moment, the entire thing read _Henry Spencer_.

“So,” Shawn continued, his voice a little softer again. “That pretty much clinched it for me. I couldn't let that happen. I thought if I left, there wouldn't be anything he could use against either of you, because it wouldn't be a big deal if it was just you two together without me around. I couldn't think of what else to do. I couldn't stop thinking that everything was fucked up because of me, and the only way I could fix it would be to make sure no one could hurt you, either because we were three or because Juliet was pregnant and that—that was a massive complication in itself. If we weren't three, if I wasn't there, you guys could... you know, have your baby and be happy, and there wouldn't be anything anyone could use against you or take away from you. And Jules... Juliet, you couldn't trust me, and I understood why. I just couldn't think of anything to do about it, about any of it. It seemed... at the time, the only thing that came to me was to back off. And get out.”

“So that no one would hurt us,” Juliet said in a dull voice. Shawn nodded. There was a sound from Finn's bottle and Juliet adjusted it without looking, pulling the collapsed nipple out of his mouth for a second so that it could reinflate and he could suck on it again. “Shawn,” she said. “Out of everyone I've ever known in my life, _including_ my father, you've hurt me the _most_.”

“I know,” he whispered, looking like he might cry again. He hung his head again and held onto the cat with both hands for comfort.

“And you hurt Carlton,” she went on. “We did not want you to leave. We didn't want you to leave us. We didn't want to go for so long without any idea of where you were, or what you were doing, or even if you were _okay_. We _loved_ you.”

Shawn opened his mouth as if to speak, and then he hesitated, and Lassiter thought he had recognized what Lauren had when he'd told her almost the same thing: the past tense. Did they still love him? Oh, yes. That wasn't the question. The question was whether or not it was going to be enough. Whether they could forgive him, trust him again.

“I know,” he said again. “I can't say more than that. I know how awful and stupid it was now. I didn't then, or I never would have. And it didn't take me long to realize it, I just... I couldn't bring myself to come back, to even try to face you.”

“Why did you now?” Lassiter asked him.

He seemed to think for a long moment again, and then he just shrugged. “I didn't set out to—the only reason I came close to the house is because I saw that you weren't home, and that if I wanted to, which I probably would, I could just look around once and then be off again without you having any idea I was here at all.”

“And then you went to the front yard?”

Shawn looked at him and nodded slowly. “And then I thought... maybe I could. See you. That it might...  _might_ be okay.” He shrugged again. “Or, if it wasn't, I'd get a righteous smack in the face and a kick in the ass and then we'd all know for sure how it was going to go.”

There was a long silence. Juliet took the bottle out of Finn's mouth and set it on the table, and then she held him up on her shoulder and began to pat his back. He let out a huge burp almost at once, and Shawn looked startled.

“Wow,” he said. “Judges give that one nine out of ten. We won't need to wait to get the call from Anaheim—they would have heard it.”

Juliet laid Finn back down and gave him the bottle again. “I don't know how it's going to go,” she said softly. “It was such a shock to see you, and I don't—we don't—it's so hard to even think right now—”

“ I know,” Shawn said. “ You guys, um... probably want some time now.”

“Some time for what?” Lassiter asked, frowning.

Shawn seemed to try to say something, and then he just shrugged. “I'm gonna go see Gus,” he said. “I haven't talked to him in awhile, he doesn't know I'm around. I knew he was at work, though, and I wanted to come by here first since I haven't been back around since before you moved here, and I just wanted a look... I really didn't even know I was going to, let alone actually come up on your property. Gus didn't even know I was going to be in town, so... I'll go check in with him, and... stuff.” He picked up the cat, hugged it for a second, and then set it on the floor. “Go find a bug to eat, buddy.”

Like there were any insects or other vermin in  _his_ house.  “Going to see your father?” Lassiter asked Shawn, who was watching the cat out of the kitchen.

That elicited a reaction—Shawn visibly flinched, and then scowled deeply. “No,” he said shortly. “Why, has he asked about me? Do you see him?”

Lassiter shrugged. “No. He came to the department once, several months ago. I asked him if he had any business being there and he said no and left.” Juliet looked at him, and he remembered that he hadn't told her about that. He shook his head at her, both to signify that it wasn't that important and that he would tell her later.

Shawn frowned for a moment longer and then shrugged. “No,” he said again. “I have nothing to say to him. I'm just going to go see Gus for a little bit.” He continued to sit for a moment, and then he got up and went to the back door. He stepped into his boots and knelt to tie the laces.

Lassiter glanced at Juliet, who was looking at Shawn intently. “Okay,” she said softly, “Gus will be glad to see you.” She paused. “And then you'll come back here, right?”

Shawn stood up and hooked his thumbs into his jeans pockets, and Lassiter could see that he was tapping his fingers against his leg as if he was anxious. He looked between them and then licked his lips. “Um... yeah. If you want me to.”

“We do,” Juliet said at once, her voice low and deliberate. “Come back here... and we can talk about some things, okay?”

“Okay,” Shawn said after a moment. He looked at her, and then at Lassiter; then he nodded. “I'm just going to get my backpack,” he said, tilting his head toward the bedroom. “I have something for Gus in it.”

“Okay,” Juliet said. When Shawn was out of their sight down the hall, she looked at Lassiter, her eyes wide, and she tried to speak. He raised his eyebrows and she tried again, still couldn't. She wasn't breaking up again, though; she put Finnick back up on her shoulder to burp a second time and her eyes fixed on the doorway as she patted his back.

Shawn was back within seconds, walking slowly. When he was near the door, he turned and looked directly at Lassiter. “The key,” he said. “For the front door. That was you.”

“Yes,” he said quietly.

Shawn nodded. “I knew it was.” He paused, struggling for a moment, and then he managed a small smile. “Thank you.”

“You left him a key,” Juliet said, and her voice was strange. He looked at her and saw that she was a little amazed, and a little puzzled, but not angry. He also saw that she understood why he hadn't told her—she'd wanted to forget and move on, once she was able, because she thought there was no hope, especially after so long; there was no other way, and her heart needed to heal. But he was the sort of man who hid guns around his home in case he or his loved ones needed protecting; it was no surprise that he'd hidden away a tiny bit of hope to protect his heart, which would never heal. “Where was it?”

“With the animals in the rock bed,” Lassiter said steadily. “One of them was hollow. I saw that it was lying on its side when we got home.”

Shawn looked at him a long time without moving, without seeming to breathe, although his eyes were very bright. Finally he inhaled, and blinked, and one corner of his mouth turned up, just a little. “The scarlet macaw mates for life,” he said softly.

Lassiter said, “They do.”

Juliet said, “And so do we.”

Shawn looked at them again, as if he was searing their faces and their images into his brain, although they all knew it took no more than half a glance for that to work for him. Then he nodded. “I'll come back later,” he promised softly, and then he was out the door and gone, walking down the driveway with his pack on his back and his hands in his pockets, his head down. Lassiter wondered where his motorcycle was for a few seconds, and then he looked at Juliet.

“Juliet,” he said quietly. She looked at him and he reached over to touch her arm as she laid Finn back down; he looked sleepy now that he'd finished his whole bottle. “What...” He stopped, not knowing even how to finish that. What the hell was that? What do you think? What do you want to do? What do you think we should do? What's going to come of this?

What if he  _doesn't_ come back again?

She shook her head, and then she effectively answered all of those questions and more. “I don't know.” There was a long silence and then she met his eyes again. “What do you...?”

He sighed. “I... think the first and foremost question, although it seems like a baby step, a one-thing-at-a-time deal, actually might speak for all of it.” He trailed a hand down her arm until he could cover her hand with his. “And it's a simple question—the simplest question in the history of the world, perhaps—although all of the connotations are vastly complicated, more so for our specific situation. I think what it really comes down to... is yes or no.”

“I don't know,” she whispered. “I know what I  _want_ it to be... and I think you want the same. But it's not just you and me we have to think about now.” She looked down at their son, whose eyes were closed now, his breathing soft and regular. “Our entire lives are different.”

He nodded. Shawn was right, they needed time alone with each other to talk, to think, to figure out what they were feeling and to decide what it meant. “Let's put him in his room,” he said gently. “We need to talk before he comes back.”

Juliet stood up to take the baby into his room—it wasn't normally a nap time for him, and he'd likely be awake far too late, but they needed quiet now, they needed only each other. Before Juliet went around the corner, she looked back at him, and he saw the same question he'd thought earlier in her eyes:  _what if he doesn't_ ?

“Then,” he said, very softly in the empty kitchen, “we'll know something else.”

He stood up abruptly and went for the cabinet where they stored liquor; he poured himself a double and then a knock for Juliet. Not what she preferred, but it would almost be medicinal at this point. He took both drinks into the living room and sat down on the sofa. When Juliet came back from the baby's room, she sat down so close to him that their thighs were touching. He put an arm around her and held her, and for a long time neither of them said anything.  


	32. Bird Is The Word

Shawn was beyond exhausted in every way, but he smiled when his best friend yanked open his apartment door and gaped at him. “Hi, buddy,” he said. “I... I'm home.”

“Shawn!” Gus nearly gasped, and he threw his arms around him so hard that he couldn't breathe for a few seconds. It was okay though, more than okay: he'd forgotten—actually hadn't remembered—the feeling of someone holding him so tightly, like they never wanted to let go of him. What he'd just said was much more than the casual phrase implied: it was pure truth.

“Guh—Gus, I'm glad to see you too, man—I know it's been awhile—but you know what I still like? Air.”

“Sorry.” Gus released his death-grip and took a small step backwards, though he was still hanging onto one of Shawn's arms, pulling him inside and closing the door firmly behind him. “I just—I didn't know you were—” He stopped, and made a face. “I haven't seen you since _April,_ Shawn! And you haven't even called me in two months! You're lucky I didn't replace your ass!”

Shawn nodded to the plate of nachos on the coffee table that Gus had clearly just gotten started on when he'd knocked. “Looks like you were making BFFs with that.”

Gus flicked his eyes up and down and frowned, grabbing one of Shawn's skinny forearms again. “What the hell is this?” he demanded. “Why are you going Stickman?”

“It was a clever ploy to get your nachos.”

“They're yours.”

He grinned as they sat on the couch, and he reached forward for a warm tortilla chip covered in chicken, cheese, and peppers. “I knew that would work. Mmm, delicious.”

“You ran out of money?” Gus asked, watching as he inhaled half the plate.

Shawn shrugged. “I got by well enough.”

“I have some I was saving for you,” Gus said quietly. “I'll get it out of the bank before you go. If you leave without it I'm donating it all to the Justin Bieber fan club.”

Shawn nearly choked. “ _Ewww_ , don't you dare.” Then he paused, studying part of a chip that had broken off the last big hunk. “Who says I'm leaving?” he asked finally. He glanced up to see Gus looking confused—then realization hit, but he choked it off, not wanting to get his hopes up too much. Shawn nodded. “I saw them. Jules and Lassy.” He smiled a little. “I just came from their place.”

“How they doing?” Gus asked evenly.

“Um... good, I think? Jules... she looks amazing. I could always see her face in my mind, but _seeing_ her...” He shook his head, unable to say what it had been like to watch her eyes as they fell on him. “Lassy looks good too,” he said after a moment. “A lot greyer, but he works it well.” He looked back down at the plate, so unused to the emotions that were trying to come through him once again that his smile widened, but his lips trembled, just a little. “Have you seen their kid?” he asked, and was grateful that his voice, at least, was steady. “He's actually really cute. And _super_ tiny. I held him, and he weighed, like, nothing. But it was weird... when I looked up and saw them both looking at me, holding their baby.” He leaned forward suddenly and dropped the plate on the table, shaking his head hard and trying to breathe easily again, to loosen the tightness in his chest.

“Bad weird?” Gus asked softly.

“No.” Shawn closed his eyes and breathed through his nose, then shoved the heels of his hands into his eyes and rubbed briskly. “Like they were happy.”

“Of course they're happy, Shawn. They love you. They missed you.” Gus laid a hand on Shawn's shoulder, his voice gentle. “They still want you, man. They never stopped wanting you.”

“I know. But how _—_ after all the shit I pulled—” He shook his head again, knowing it was true but disbelieving it anyway. “How could _anyone_ still want me?”

“I dunno, their standards stayed lowered?”

Shawn snorted laughter. “Thanks, buddy. I missed you. I really did. I tried to make friends with this squirrel in St. Louis, but he didn't get any of my film references, which is why I hooked up with a stray tom that had its own shack instead, even if it did smell catty.” He paused. “So I had that going for me, which is nice.”

Gus grinned and held out his fist. “C'mon, son!” Shawn bumped with him, grinning back and feeling a lot better. “So... are you going back there?” Gus asked after a pause. “With them?”

Shawn took in a slow breath and rubbed the back of his neck. “I think... I actually could,” he said slowly, and met his friend's solemn eyes. “We talked a little... obviously we couldn't say everything that needs to be said, because none of us, including me, expected this. They don't even know what they want to say. I tried to say that I knew how stupid I was and that I fucked up, how sorry I am and that I still love them. They need some time right now, so I figured it would be a good time to come raid your fridge and admire your shiny head.” He gave Gus a quick grin when he preened and rubbed his smooth scalp. “I told 'em I was coming here, and then they—Jules—told me to come back there later.”

“Of _course_ they did.”

“Gus... all this time I've been gone. They kept my pillow.” Gus raised his eyebrows in surprise at that, and Shawn nodded. “It was... it was right there, in the bed in their new house... right next to theirs. Not just an extra one, it was _mine_. The one I used to use, the one I left here.”

“Wow,” Gus said softly.

Shawn nodded again, wanting to explain the strange mixed feeling of devastating loss and an insane amount of hope that had come over him when he'd curiously poked his head into the bedroom and had seen it, but it still made him feel weak inside, and he knew he couldn't. “Jules asked... so I told her that I—I wanted to come back, to be with them again. I can't ever make up for the shit I put them through by going, but when they hugged me... they both just held onto me, really tight. I know they need to think about it, and I have no idea what's going to happen now,” he said. “But I think—I mean—” He stopped, remembering something, and he looked up quickly. “They weren't home when I went by there. I—Gus. Do you know how I got in?”

Gus shrugged and shook his head. “I'm sure you found a way.”

“The home of two cops—well, one a former cop, but one of them's Carlton Lassiter, so that makes up in the 'security and paranoia' department.” Shawn smiled a little. “I couldn't have sneaked in, or broke in, not without other cops arriving on scene three-to-five minutes later.”

Gus shrugged again. “Okay, then no, I don't know how you got in.”

“Do you remember the parrot?” Shawn smiled wider. “The scarlet macaw. I called him Flip.”

Gus blinked. “Yeah? The haunted parrot, like I'd ever forget.”

“He wasn't haunted, Gus, don't be a mysterious bulge.” Shawn flapped a hand at him before going on. “I just went to have a peek at their new place, since I haven't been back here since before they moved. I saw that they weren't home, and I just... I wanted, I don't know, to just get a little closer. I thought it was safe, since they wouldn't know. I just went up the sidewalk by the driveway, and I looked in a couple of the windows. I went back around to the front yard, saw some flowers Jules must have planted, and... there were some ceramic animal figurines in a line under the big front window. You know, bunnies, ducks, whatever. They were all standard, white clay that you can get anywhere.” He paused and looked at Gus again. “But one of those things was not like the other things—one of those things just didn't belong. It caught my eye immediately... because it was supposed to.” He smiled, knowing there were tears in his eyes again, but this time they were okay. “It was a little parrot figure. Bright red. So I went over to it. And I saw... that someone had used a Sharpie on it, way down by its feet. Gus... that time I broke into Lassy's briefcase, back in Georgia? The thing that got me into the assault case that ended up with us together? That was the combination. That parrot... it was for me, man.”

“Oh my god,” Gus said.

“I picked it up,” Shawn went on, his voice barely a whisper. “And I could tell it was hollow. There was a front door key inside it.” He smiled, and his breath hitched slightly. “All I had to do... was _flip the bird_.”

“Oh my god,” Gus said again, though this time his voice was also a whisper, and there were also tears in his eyes. He'd always been sensitive and sympathetic, something Shawn had taunted him about all their lives; now he was glad, because his best friend was always exactly what he needed.

Shawn rubbed his eyes and his face, taking a deep breath. “Yeah. So... I looked at the key, and I saw there was a tiny black cat on it. I looked back at the house, and I saw Siddy in one of the upstairs windows. I was a little surprised they still had him, since he was always more my cat than hers, and Lassy didn't like him at all... but they did. I used the key to get inside, and when the security alarm started blinking, I tried Siddy's birthday, and it worked.” He smiled again.

“So there was a key for you outside, where you would be immediately drawn to it and know what it meant, and then the house security code was a date you would know by a clue on that key.”

“Gus sells the nutshell well,” Shawn said proudly.

Gus gave him a look, and then shook his head. “Wow. So, see, I was right—they do still want you. All of that, plus keeping _your_ _pillow_ , with theirs, all this time. They've been waiting for you to come home, man.” He paused. “So what are you doing here?”

“Fine, I won't check in with you after not being here for five months.”

“Shawn!Are you still being stupid on purpose?”

“It's not on purpose. I just can't seem to help it.”

“Apparently not,” Gus said, rolling his eyes. “They show you that they want you to stay, so you leave and come over here and eat my dinner.”

“That was your dinner? Unhealthy, man.”

“ _You're_ the one that ate it. Stop trying to divert the question.”

Shawn sighed, not looking at Gus. “I dunno,” he mumbled. “I just thought... they'd need some time, to breathe and to think and to talk about it without me there. Decide what they want to do. It's—I know I fucked everything up in just about the biggest way possible. I've been gone for so long, and there's no way I could ever expect to just show up in their house and stay forever like everything's going to be fine again. I got some pendants or something.”

Gus frowned slightly, and then nodded. “Oh, penance. Well, maybe. But you ain't gonna make up for what's already happened by not being there and talking about trying to fix it.”

“They told me to come back to talk later.” He shrugged. “I just figured they'd want a little time without me there to discuss it... I mean, they have a kid together now. That changes everything too.”

“That's true,” Gus said. “But you'll work it out. I never ever thought I'd see a couple—” He paused. “A... trio?”

“Throuple.”

“That's stupid, Shawn. What'd you really call it?”

He smiled. “We called it 'us'.”

“There you go,” Gus said. “I never thought I'd see a triad relationship that actually was three people together—not just for booty calls, but three people all in love with each other—that fit together and worked so well as you and Juliet and Lassiter. No, it wasn't perfect, and trying to keep it secret sucked the big one, but you balanced each other out. You and Lassiter both took care of Jules and made her happy and gave her what she needed—he was there when she wanted to kick ass and be professional, you were there when she wanted to be goofy and let loose, and you were both there when she wanted you both. Both of them were actually enough to keep _you_ in line most of the time—in line but challenged and happy, always with someone to go bother or snuggle up to when you were bored. And when Lassiter got too wound up about cases, Jules kept him focused, helped him not get ahead of himself, and she almost always knew what he really meant when he'd say something weird that even threw you off. And you helped calm him down, by diverting him when he kept bashing at a brick wall, or going with to help him see a way around it or through it. I never—before or since—saw any of you so happy with life as when you were all living together.” Gus folded his arms as if to say 'so there'.

“I know I was never as happy,” Shawn said quietly. “I'm pretty sure I never would be again. But it's not up to me, man. It's up to them. And if I go back and they want to talk about... being us again... then I guess it'll be up to all of us how to make it work again.”

“However it takes,” Gus said firmly.

Shawn nodded. He was prepared to do whatever it took, whatever they needed or wanted. He just didn't know if they would want to—or be able to—give him the opportunity. “Oh, I brought you something,” Shawn said suddenly, remembering what was in his backpack. He scrounged for a moment and then came out with a small box of high quality chocolates from a shop in the Midwest. “You'll like these. Try not to eat your fingers if you smear any.”

Gus looked pleased. “Thank you.” He opened the box and pulled out a small piece, chewing thoughtfully for a few seconds. “Wow, this is really good.”

“Indeed it is.” Shawn attempted to reach for a piece and Gus slapped his hand. Shawn glared at him and tried again, and the process was repeated. Shawn stuck out his bottom lip and Gus held out the box; Shawn grinned and took a piece. “Did you get me anything?” he demanded.

Gus gave him a look. “I got you a donation to the Santa Barbara Zoo. If you're sticking around, that's where the money I saved up for you is going.”

“Hey, good deal. I can't wait to see the snow leopards this year.” Shawn grinned. “In the meantime, I'm going to go bitch about your lack of good hair products while I shower and then I'm going to use your razor to clean this crap off my face.”

“I don't need hair products, Shawn,” Gus said smoothly, selecting another chocolate. “That would be like you keeping around an application for Mensa.”

Shawn held a hand to his chest. “Ouch. You've gone bitter in your months without me. Where's the sweet Gus we all know and love? Do I need to start force-feeding you sugar packets again?”

“This is a good start,” Gus said, settling back on his sofa. “You ate my dinner, so I'll just have these.”

“Good choice. If I catch you eating wabbit food I'll just have to buy a bunny and get rid of it all. That's not a bad idea anyway,” Shawn mused, thinking that Jules' and Lassy's kid might like prime access to a bunny. That was getting ahead of himself, though—no use including bunnies in the mix until they knew which way was updoc. He got up and headed for Gus's bathroom, grabbing a towel out of the hall closet as he went by.

When he got in the shower, he stood under the spray as hot as he could handle for several minutes, wanting all of his exhaustion and ache and apathy to follow the water down the drain. He wet his hair and looked over his shoulder, hoping for something to use, and then he smiled, although he felt like crying again, when he saw the two bottles tucked behind Gus's body wash on the shelf: Johnson's Baby Shampoo and Mr. Bubble.

He picked them both up, resisting an urge to hug them, deciding to try to save it all for Gus, Jules, and Lassy. He didn't deserve them, any of them, and he owed them all so much. He didn't know if it was possible to make it up to any of them, if they wanted to let him try. He didn't even know where to start.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> +sdtrk "[Follow The Cops Back Home](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=i9u3H7x9MGk)", by Placebo.


	33. Juliet's Final Decision

Juliet's insides were a tornado. She was pretty sure that was what happened when cool met warm, when thought and feeling met head-on and started to swirl around, chasing each other until they sped up and destroyed everything in their path. That part wasn't going to happen, but she did feel like her brain and her heart were whipping her around in circles, cycling up faster and faster until she didn't know where one began and the other ended.

She hadn't been able to eat much of her lasagna, and she'd noticed that Carlton hadn't either. They talked hesitatingly, not wanting to get ahead of themselves, not wanting to leave anything out. It was hard, trying to keep herself calm and even and rational—this was, by far, the least rational situation she'd been in for quite a long time, possibly forever. It was more complicated than when the three of them had decided that they wanted to be together, and she was more shaken than when she'd found out that Shawn had been lying to her the entire time they'd known each other—which technically was still yet to be addressed. And, as she'd pointed out to Carlton, they had a  _baby_ now. Things were different; no matter what, they couldn't be the same as they were. So where were they going to end up now?

She'd told Carlton that she didn't know, but that wasn't exactly true. Her heart knew. Seeing Shawn again, being able to put her arms around him and hearing him whisper in her ear that he loved her, that he was sorry, that he knew what he'd done, feeling him shake, feeling his tears on her cheek... her heart knew that he meant it, all of it. When she focused on that deep part of herself that spoke for her when her mind was tangled and whirling, it answered quietly but firmly, and then it was all over but the shouting.

Her brain told her to give it more time, to adjust to Shawn being back before settling on anything, even including what she thought she felt, because it was such a shock. Her brain reminded her not only of how Shawn had lied, but how he had left them without so much as a goodbye (true, he'd left a letter, but it hadn't even been for them—it had been for  _Gus_ ), how he'd been wiped off the face of their lives for almost an entire year, how there could be much more about him, and the life he'd lived without them, that they didn't know.

It really came down to trust. It always did, and it probably always would—it was a big thing for her, which he'd known since before they'd gotten together. She'd trusted him almost immediately, and although there'd been the little blip when he'd admitted that he wasn't psychic (which she'd needed time for then, too) her faith in him had never wavered, not until last year. The total and complete trust in each other was what allowed them to explore sexual relationships with others outside of their own relationship, and not become jealous but to enjoy everything, to feel happy and secure and never doubt.

She hated that doubt, that second-guessing, and she hated the feeling that she'd been foolish, believing in someone or something that had only strung her along. Shawn wasn't like that... he hadn't done it intentionally. He'd never wanted to hurt her—every part of her believed that. It didn't mean that he hadn't, though, because he had. She'd adored him with all of her being, her heart filled with love, warm and solid, when she thought of him. Any part of her, logical or emotional, having to take a step back and look more closely at him, knowing that he'd  _lied_ to her, was as shocking as a cloudburst of ice water drenching a sunny day. It made her pull into herself, protective and hurt and angry, the water on her face from her eyes instead of the rain.

But she wasn't unforgiving—as experience with her father showed, it took a long time, or an act of betrayal so complete that her heart wasn't just broken but shattered, before she would decide that she'd rather leave the pieces than attempt to pick them up and only cut herself again and again. Shawn had broken her heart, that was true; he'd lied to her and then he took off, leaving her feeling not only broken, but emptied.

She hadn't been completely empty, though, because she hadn't been alone: she'd had Carlton, whom she still trusted, whom she'd held on to. Shawn had hurt him deeply by leaving him as well, and they'd managed to cling more tightly to each other, to help each other heal and to be filled up again. And they were—their lives were good, their relationship with each other very solid, their love for each other and for their son still bright enough to warm them, still hot enough to keep them continuously satisfied.

If there had only been one thing wrong in all of the months between then and now, one thing that kept them from being completely filled up, completely happy, it had been the places in their hearts where Shawn used to live that had been emptied. That hadn't been something they could fill without him, and although they hadn't discussed it, she felt sure that Carlton felt the same way.

They had learned to put those empty places to the side, to focus on their jobs and the progression of their lives, but although they had gotten to where they could do so almost without thinking... those empty places were still there, still in the back of their minds and occasionally surfacing from the deep parts of their hearts before they could be gently but firmly pushed back. She knew it in the way Carlton irritatedly flipped the TV channel if anything came on regarding an 80s movie, how her eyes skimmed over the fresh fruit in the supermarket, not allowing themselves to land on the pineapple.

Now Shawn was back, he was here; he'd said, after she'd prodded him, that he wanted to be back with them again. He'd never lived in this house, but he wanted to be home. Any place would be home with them. Carlton had pointed out to her that the very basic question, the bottom line, was yes or no. Yes, they wanted him back, they would try to forgive him and be happy again, or no, he really had screwed it up beyond fixing, they could never fully trust him again. The question had nothing to do with love, because the intensity of their love for each other had come upon all three of them that day, and they had all known it. Trust and love were sometimes unrelated, but she thought that for most people, if the two were divided, the space between them would only grow. It worked that way for her.

Could she trust Shawn?  _Did_ she trust him? She tried to remember his face during that long-ago fight, when he'd first tried to tell her that he was sorry he'd held out on her, that his omission regarding his vasectomy was the very last thing he'd been keeping from her, that he understood that he shouldn't have, and, the most important part, that he was sorry he had, that he'd regretted it. She didn't know if she'd believed him then, couldn't remember—she hadn't really had time to, because at first she'd been so blindsided, so angry, and then he was gone. Now he was back, and while her heart wasn't wavering on its conviction, her mind nagged at her, with little taps she couldn't ignore, that everything between them, every question of trust and more was still there, rusted and set instead of softened or decayed.

“Darling? Juliet?”

She looked at Carlton, who had Finn in his lap—he'd awakened from his nap and was now cheerful and babbly, exactly what they didn't want just an hour or so before he usually went down for the night—and saw that he looked as tired and confused as she felt. She smiled at both of them and lightly traced a finger along the bottom of one of her boy's feet; his eyes found her and he grinned. She scooted closer to them and laid her head on Carlton's shoulder, and he raised on arm enough to be able to hold her.

“What are you thinking?” he asked softly.

“Thinking or feeling?” she asked.

“Are they different answers?”

She closed her eyes. “I don't know. I mean, I  _know_ , but... I don't know.”

“You know what you want, but you don't know if that's the right answer?”

She turned her face up to him and smiled. “Maybe that's it. How'd you know?”

His face was solemn. “Because that's where I'm at.” He paused. “What is it you want? Don't bother about whether it's right, and don't bother about what's best. What do you actually  _want_ ?”

She studied him, and in a moment she realized two things: the first was that they both wanted the same thing, and that they both knew it. The second was that he wouldn't say unless she did, unless she did  _first,_ because she had been the one hurt first, the one hurt most.

“I want...” she tried, and had to take a deep breath to steady herself. “I want Shawn.” She reached up to brush at her eyes, which had tears in them, and his arm around her pulled her closer. “Is that... that's what you want too?” she asked, looking into his eyes. “To have him back?”

“Yes,” he said quietly, and then he seemed to brace himself. “I still love him.”

“I do too.”

He looked a little relieved at that, as if he hadn't been sure, or as if he didn't know if she'd say it when there was still so much else to consider. “And he's said he still loves us, and that he wants to be with us again.”

She nodded. “I just... I don't know what to do about everything that's still there. I think that I—“ She stopped, knowing now that it wasn't right. “I  _do_ believe that he's sorry that he lied to me, that he never told me. I believe that—at least at the time, we don't know where he's been or what he's been doing for the last year—that was the last thing he didn't tell me. I think... I would  _like_ to forgive him for that. I couldn't see it at the time, because I was so angry and hurt, but he did have a reason for not telling me. It doesn't excuse it, and it's not that great of a reason, but he didn't lie to me because he thought it would be fun. He did it because he was afraid I'd leave him. That's what he said, wasn't it?”

Carlton nodded. “He said he didn't tell you at once when you got together because he didn't know it was the real deal, and then he didn't want to lose you, and then it had already been so long that he didn't tell you that he knew you'd be angry, and he just kept leaving it because he feared that.”

“Right. Again, not that great of a reason, but, at least to him, it makes sense. He said something about other ways to have children, too—so he wasn't going to try to deny me children forever, or at least that wasn't his intention. And then we never expected you—for you to join us, and for it to work as well as it did. He said something about that, too—it worked out because you were able to get me pregnant. Which, really, is irrelevant when it comes to him lying, but  _isn't_ ... because of the situation we turned out to have.” She sighed. “So... I think I can forgive him for that. I think I  _would_ have, long ago, if he would have given me the chance to just be angry for awhile.”

Carlton's expression darkened. “But then his goddamned father butted in. If he threatened to out all of us, that could have easily blown down the whole thing for Shawn, especially since he was so convinced that you were never going to trust him again. Added in with everything we went through with Gates, and that dunderhead that decided to imply that he knew  _something_ was going on—probably you and me, which we also didn't want out at the time—and then the rumors still floating around that caused you to give up your position as a detective...”

She nodded. “None of us were very happy then. I can understand how it made him panic, and how—if he was as depressed as you thought—his decision to leave us and think we were better off made sense at the time.”

“And I understand why, once he realized that he'd been wrong about that, he continued to leave us alone.”

Juliet nodded again. “I do too. I don't like it, and we all know that that was also untrue, but we can't change it. We can only decide what we're going to do now.”

“Do you want to give him another chance?” Carlton asked. “Can you—and I'm only asking if you think you can, not if you will—trust him one more time? I know there's still more details to consider, the fact that we have Finnick being probably the biggest one, but that question comes first and foremost, because everything else is moot if the answer is no.”

She closed her eyes and rested her head on his shoulder again, thinking, feeling, listening to that voice at the center of her heart. If she did, if she could, could she handle being lied to again? Could she handle losing him again? Could she actually—maybe not at once, but eventually—simply trust that these things would never happen again?  _One more time_ , Carlton had said.

She wanted to see Shawn now, to talk to him and look in his eyes, to feel his arms around her again, to smell him and feel him and love him. He was back, but that could very well be temporary—he'd said that much outright. It was dependent on what they decided. He was back, but they didn't yet  _have_ him back. They would if they wanted to, if they could let him back inside.

Their lives now, with each other, were like this house; Carlton had left a key for Shawn outside, left him a way to get in should he ever come back, should he ever want it, but now that their bubble of two had been breached, it was very clearly up to her to officially open the door and invite Shawn inside to stay. Carlton wanted to, but he would back her, the woman he loved and the mother of his son, if she said no. If she closed and locked the door, he would bar it.

She took a deep breath, and then she opened her eyes and sat up enough to look at Carlton. She tried to smile, but her lips trembled and she knew she was going to cry again. This time it would be okay.  _One more time_ , it would be all right.

“Yes,” she said, and her tears wet her cheeks, although her voice stayed steady. “I can do that. I love him, and I want him... and I want him to come home. When he comes back... let's ask him to stay. Forever.”

Carlton smiled and kissed her. “Okay,” he said softly, pressing his cool cheek on her warm face. “Let's be three again.”

“We'll make it work,” she told him, and herself.  _We were such magic,_ she thought, and closed her eyes, letting Carlton hold her while they waited for Shawn to come back.

_One-two-three green light._


	34. Found and Lost and Found

When it started to get dark, and Shawn hadn't come back yet, Juliet started to get worried.

Lassiter was supremely annoyed that they hadn't thought to ask Shawn if he had a phone at the moment—the one he used to have, the green iPhone with the Psych logo on the back—was in a box somewhere, but they'd stopped keeping it charged (just in case), before they'd moved.

 “He said he was going to see Gus,” Juliet mused. She frowned a little at the kitchen window, from which they could see the last trails of sunset. She looked at Lassiter and he could see that she was chewing her lip—that she was beginning to wonder the thing that would be the absolute worst thing right now: that Shawn had taken off again, that even though he specifically said he was coming back, even though they'd told him to, he'd flown the coop again. That would just fucking figure, especially after they'd spent the whole night tangled up themselves, and after Juliet had cried, _again_ , this time saying that they would take him back.

If he did that to them again, he'd better hope and pray that the urge to come back a second time never came upon him. Lassiter was already poring over a mental list, and he was currently undecided between land mines or bear traps.

“Should I call him? Gus?” Juliet asked now.

Lassiter shrugged. “If you want to.” Finnick was getting fussy, his schedule ruined, and he stood up with him. “We should get him ready for bed.”

“He won't go to sleep. Or he won't stay asleep.”

“We should try anyway. He's off his routine, but that doesn't mean we abandon it.”

She looked up at him; he raised his eyebrows, and she licked her lips. “Half an hour more. Let's get Finn ready for bed, then, and if Shawn—if he's still not here, I'll call Gus and ask if he just fell asleep on his sofa or something.”

“All right.” It was as good an idea as any, and getting the baby his bath and into his pajamas would distract them for a good twenty minutes or so.

They didn't speak much as they did, other than Juliet cooing to Finn as she got him undressed, while Lassiter poured a good amount of the bath stuff that was supposed to help him go to sleep into the tiny plastic baby tub set inside the real tub. He then stepped out of the bathroom, as it was easier for Juliet to bathe the kid if he wasn't in her way, and he went to the baby's room to get a fresh diaper and his pajamas ready. When he re-entered the bathroom with a small, soft towel, Juliet was just rinsing the little bit of dark hair he had, the bubbles gurgling out of the baby tub after she pulled the stopper. He knelt down with the towel opened and ready, and she carefully lifted the slippery baby up enough so that Lassiter could wrap the towel around him, making him easier to hold on to. Juliet cradled their son in her arms, still cooing and talking to him, and while she took him into his room to diaper and dress, Lassiter went to the kitchen to get him half a bottle ready. He checked out all of the windows first, though, even opening the kitchen door and sticking his head out to look around at their quiet neighborhood. No Shawn.

And still nothing after they offered Finnick his half-bottle and he drank it down, thankfully looking sleepy after his bath and bedtime routine. Lassiter took him to his crib and laid him down while Juliet rinsed the bottle and got the next day's formula mixed up and ready so that the bottles could be put in the fridge to be ready to go. Lassiter helped her, neither speaking, both frequently glancing at the windows until they were finished. It was fully dark now.

“I'm going to call Gus,” Juliet said, although she was frowning slightly and her voice was unsure.

“Good idea,” he said quietly, and she looked at him a few seconds before nodding. She got out her phone and pulled up Guster's number, hitting the button to call and then the one for the speaker.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Gus, it's—it's Juliet,” she said.

“Juliet!” he said, sounding surprised, but not shocked—Lassiter thought it was safe to assume that Shawn had at least been to see him. “Hello, how are—things?”

“Things are okay,” she said carefully. “Gus, is Shawn—can I talk to him, please?”

There was a short pause, but it was long enough for Lassiter to look at Juliet and see her eyes dart up to meet his. “He's not here,” Guster said. “I mean—he was, yes. He said that he saw you guys, and that you told him to come back.”

“We did,” she said, looking at little relieved that Shawn had definitely gone where he said he was going to, and that Gus was admitting he'd been there, so Shawn hadn't sworn him to secrecy about his visit. “Did he just leave? I guess we thought he would come back before now. It's past dark, and we were just—” She stopped, clearly not wanting to say 'worried'.

Guster's voice was now hesitant, sounding worried himself. “No, Juliet, he... he left a few hours ago. He came here just as I was sitting down to eat. I gave him my nachos. Then he had a shower and I gave him some money, since it sounded like no one knew what was going on yet. And then he... left.”

Juliet was blinking rapidly, so Lassiter gently took the phone from her. “Guster, does he have a phone that you know of? There was no mention of one when he was here.”

“No,” Guster said. “I tried to give him a burner—I always keep one on hand in case he comes back so that way he'd have something—but he didn't take it. He just said I'd know where he'd be... I assumed that meant with you guys.”

An idea came to him then: Shawn almost always ran from his problems (boy, did he), but on occasion he'd been unpredictably confrontational, especially when he felt wronged. And he wasn't a chickenshit, no matter how many times Lassiter had tried to think so; the times he'd accused him of having no guts and no spine, back before he'd gotten to know him inside and out, were mostly unwarranted. He'd seen it in Georgia, and he'd seen it while Shawn solved cases and put himself into risky situations to do what needed doing—or what he felt needed doing.

“Could he have gone to see his father?” Lassiter asked.

“I really kinda doubt that—did he tell you about what happened with him?”

“Yes.” Lassiter pressed his lips together and then he ran a hand through his hair. “Where else might he be that you would know?”

Guster thought about it for a long moment, and during the silence Lassiter reached for Juliet's hand with the one not holding the phone; she took it, but her lips were pressed together tightly and her gaze was focused on the tabletop.

“Let me try one or two places,” Gus said finally. “Can I call you back?”

“Please do,” Lassiter said, putting an edge on his voice that made it  _you damn well better_ . He ended the call and set the phone on the table.

“Why would he leave again?” Juliet asked, her voice barely more than a whisper. “We told him to come back. I said so specifically. He said he would.”

Lassiter sighed and put a hand on the back of her neck, rubbing gently. “I don't know, darling. For all we know, he got pulled over for speeding on that stupid motorcycle, and then when the officer tried to write him a ticket for lapsed registration, he got a smart mouth and then got himself arrested and he's in a cell. Or maybe he did go to see Henry—or his mother—and he's stuck with one of them. If he doesn't have a phone, he might not know what time it is.”

“He could see that it's dark,” she pointed out.

He shrugged. “Guster gave him money. He might have gone to see a movie or something—the reason he left here was because he wanted to give us some time—and it could be running late.”

She looked up at him. “Do you believe any of that?”

“No... but...” He paused to think. “I don't think he's gone again, Juliet. That doesn't feel right either. The way he looked when he left here, that wasn't... it wasn't at all how he looked the last time I saw him at Guster's apartment before he took off last year. If it was, I don't think I would have let him go.” He sighed again. “But I looked at his face when he left here, when you told him to come back and he said okay. He meant it and he intended to.”

“Something could have happened, then. Or he thought of something, like maybe he thinks there's no way we'd take him back.” She bit at her lip, hard, and he stood up to hold her head against his stomach.

“What do you want to do?” he asked.

She let out a breath that was only slightly wavery, but her voice didn't seem to have tears in it, at least not yet. “Wait for Gus to call back,” she said softly. “And if he couldn't find him, or he didn't go back there, or—or anything... then I want to go to bed. My head hurts, and I feel so tired that I don't even know what I think or what I want. We can... we can leave the front door unlocked, maybe.”

“Shawn took the key with him.”

She looked up. “He did?”

“I assume he did—he used it to get inside, and I don't see it anywhere.” He glanced around the kitchen and shrugged. “He takes things that can be useful to him, haven't you ever noticed? I can't count the number of times he took various keys for the PD off my rings to make copies so that he could sneak into the evidence rooms or the file rooms whenever he wanted. There was the time he took my handcuffs. One time he was emptying his pockets out so that his pants could go in the wash, and I saw he had a safety deposit box key. I asked him what it was for, and he said, 'Stuff my dad wouldn't miss'.” He frowned a little. “That man is a labyrinth, Juliet. He always has been. I'm not sure anyone can ever truly know someone like him.”

“I thought I did. I thought we did.”

Her phone rang and she snatched it up. She didn't have the speaker on for this call, but it was so quiet in the kitchen that Lassiter could hear Guster's voice anyway. “Hello, Gus?”

“Hi, Juliet, um... I wasn't able to find him.”

She let out her breath and squeezed Lassiter's hand, but her voice stayed steady. “Oh. Where did you check?”

“A couple of restaurants we went to all the time that would recognize him, Tom Blair's Pub, um, the police department... the pay phone outside where the Psych office used to be. I thought those would be all of the places he'd think I'd know where to find him. I also tried the diner where he first met you, just in case... I asked everyone I talked to if he was around, and I described him, but everyone said no. I'm sorry, Juliet, I don't know where he could—but really he could be anywhere—” He stopped and sighed heavily. “I should have  _made_ him take the new burner phone. I even tried the number for the last one I gave him, but it was months and months ago, and it was out of service. Do you want me to try his dad?”

“He won't be there,” she said, her voice now dull. “Thank you for trying, Gus.”

“I'm so sorry, I really don't know what could have happened. He  _said_ he was going to go back to see you guys.”

“It's okay,” she said softly. “You did everything you could. Just... if he comes back, or you see or hear from him... will you call us?”

“Yes,” he said immediately. “I promise I will.”

“Thank you.” She put the phone back on the table and looked at Lassiter, who didn't know what to say. Juliet got up after a moment and opened the door, sticking her head out. She looked, and listened, and then she slowly closed the door. After a few seconds to think, she flipped the outside light on.

“Juliet?” he asked.

She sighed. “I think... I'm going to make a cup of tea and get ready for bed. My mind is whirling, and I just... I want some quiet time to wind down before trying to go to sleep.”

He nodded. “We're not going to do anything out here except sit in silence and watch the windows. You put the light on and he has the key.”

“What if he doesn't, or if he lost it?” She bit her lip again, and then she went to one of the drawers under the countertop and pulled out a pad of sticky notes. She wrote two notes, exactly the same, and when she left the kitchen to put one near the front door, he could read the other:  _Shawn—you're late and we're asleep. Come inside and we'll talk in the morning. —J_

After she'd stuck both notes on the doors, she turned on the electric kettle for her tea and Lassiter poured himself a glass of Scotch to quiet his own racing mind. He followed her to their bedroom, where they both undressed and re-dressed in pajamas, and after checking on the baby, she made sure that the baby monitor she kept on her bedside table was on, and turned on the TV. He sipped his Scotch and she sipped her tea, neither speaking, both staring through whatever crappy sitcom she'd put on, and the one after that, and the one after that.

After almost an hour and a half, whichever show that was currently on made her smile, and then snicker, something he was very glad to see. He didn't see what was so funny himself, but apparently a lot of newer shows liked to keep running gags and jokes, and if one wasn't familiar with the plot or characters, one wouldn't understand them. Instead of asking her to explain, he just looked at her smile, and when something made her crack up enough so that she clapped a hand over her mouth, he just smiled instead of reminding her that she might wake the baby.

The show went to a commercial, and she hit the mute button, turning to look at the baby monitor, which he could see was registering a level of sound from Finn's room. They paused, and yes, the wavering red lights indicated that he was starting to fuss. “Crap,” she whispered.

“Maybe he'll go back to sleep,” Lassiter said reasonably, although he didn't believe it.

“Maybe, but I—” she started to say, and then she froze, turning fast to look at him, her eyes wide and her mouth open.

Another voice was coming from the baby monitor. Shawn's voice.

“Hey, shh, little guy,” he whispered. “You're gonna wake up everyone. What's the matter? You gotta stop crying, dude, I can't understand you.”

Lassiter was on his feet and almost to the door before he realized that Juliet was still sitting on the bed. He held his hand out to her. “Juliet. He didn't leave us again.”

She wiped at her cheeks. “I'm sorry, I just... I just need a second.”

He came back over to her side and sat next to her, and while she pressed her hands to her face and took several deep breaths, he watched the baby monitor, which showed more red lights as the voices from the baby's room—Finn's fussing and Shawn's low chatter to him—continued.

“Hey, now, it's okay,” Shawn went on. “Did you drop this pacifier thingy? Do you want it? There, that's better. Can I pick you up? Yeah, that's okay—don't wiggle and we're good. There. You feel better now?” Short pause. “You don't smell funky, or maybe that's just me. See, I found the Mr. Bubble that my BFF got for me—trust me, it's good stuff. I think I'm supposed to smell like Razzle Dazzle Raspberry, but it comes in a variety of smells. Word to the wise, little man? You don't taste the soap. It smells delicious, but trust me, I had to learn that the hard way.” Another short pause. “Wow, that's a sweet rocking chair, let's go over here. There, this is comfy. Are you comfy? You don't look mad anymore at least, but maybe we're not on speaking terms yet. Some babies just like to be cuddled all the time though, right? I know that feeling... I've been missing it like you wouldn't believe.”

“Shawn,” Juliet whispered, and stood up. Lassiter stood with her and took her hand, and together they went out of their room and down the hall, stopping when they were just outside Finnick's room. It was dark in the hallway but they could see Shawn now, sitting in the rocking chair in the corner, the scant light from the projector that put pictures on the ceiling showing them his outline. He was holding the baby with his head in the crook of one elbow and looking down at him while he rocked gently, unaware that they were there yet.

“What was your name?” he said then. “Finnick, right? Finn? Yeah, you're just a little Sharkfinn, aren't you? You're super tiny right now, but one of these days, your parents are going to need a bigger boat.”

Lassiter had snorted at that before he realized it, and when he did, Shawn looked up at them. Juliet reached over for the switch that turned on the hall light, and then they could see him clearly: his hair was washed and he was shaved, and although he was still in the rumpled clothes he'd been wearing when they'd found him asleep on their bed earlier that day, he was in socks, which partly explained why they hadn't heard him—he'd taken his shoes off at the door. He looked, in other words, like the Shawn they knew and remembered and loved.

His face was solemn and a little apprehensive as they came into the room. “Um, sorry,” he said softly, his eyes darting between them. “I just—I heard him crying, and the note on the door said you were sleeping, and I just thought...”

“It's fine,” Juliet said softly, and held out her hands. “I think he's going back to sleep. Let me put him back in his crib... and then we'll talk.”


	35. Forever Days

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much to everyone that's followed this story from the beginning. This is the last chapter of this story—but not the end of _their_ story. The epilogue will be up soon!  
>  I'd love to hear what you thought of the ending, and of the story/series as a whole :)

Shawn Spencer was a lot of things other people weren't. He knew that—had been told so and shown the proof ever since he could remember, which was a long, long way. He was also missing some things other people had, something he'd also known and been told all his life. He had generally been able to feel it, too, whether it was in the way that he disappointed his parents or couldn't ever hold onto a steady relationship, be it friendship or romantic or working. He pissed people off, he left out crucial things, he neglected to consider what consequences his actions might have for other people. He'd tried to work on these things, but then he would get distracted, or it wouldn't be important, or he just couldn't bring himself to care.

Juliet had changed all of that. She had made him a better person, she had been patient with him and loved him, and he found himself changing his behavior, his attitude, his entire outlook on life. Not to match with hers, because they were different people that had different places in life and different methods to work their way around, but at least to be someone that she approved of, someone she could be proud of.

She was his dream girl in every way, and it was because of that, because of her, that they were able to come to the other point in their lives, separate and with each other, that made everything meld together. She understood him, she was  _like_ him, and she trusted him; and so they had found Lassy, had hunted him and caught him and made him theirs.

Nothing had ever been as good as belonging to the two of them—they had each belonged to the other two in their equilateral triangle, had belonged and loved and fit. It was like Gus had said, like they all had known the entire time: not many people could actually make such a thing work. They were vastly different in each of their ways, but for them, it worked because their love for each other was an actual, true thing. Shawn had never been jealous when Jules and Lassy were together without him, in fact there had been times when that was  _great_ in his view, because then he never felt smothered or had a fear of how deep they were in together. When he did want them, and one was busy or unavailable, he almost always had the other, and that was true for both of them as well. Not a lot of people could actually be truly happy in such an arrangement, but they had, because they fit. Where Shawn's puzzle piece had a divot, Juliet's would extend and fill him, snapping together to become one. The pieces of theirs that had still been missing an edge, either sticking out or empty in some places, were fixed when Lassy's piece had snapped with theirs to make the puzzle complete, to make the picture.

Shawn had destroyed their picture, all of their pieces so carefully found and matched throughout the months they'd been together. After awhile, Jules and Lassy had managed to remake their picture, filling in spots where Shawn's pieces had been on their own, or finding a way around them. And they had more pieces to fit in as well—the baby's. Shawn didn't know if it was even possible to remake the picture again, to move things around and find new places for him... to put back the ones he'd taken. He was willing to try—he  _wanted_ to try. He wanted that more than anything in the world, and he'd do whatever it took. But that wasn't always enough. Sometimes puzzle pictures could never be remade once the pieces were scattered—some got lost, some got torn or broken or crumpled and the picture could never be the same, or whole, ever again. Sometimes old pieces could be found, or new pieces could be made, if those that were building the picture wanted to try. Theirs was a five-thousand piece monster full of jumbled images and bright colors and lines, so he didn't think he could ever blame them for not wanting to start over, yet again, and try to make a picture with him included.

Juliet took the baby from him while Lassy stood near the door, and Shawn was actually a little sorry when the soft, slight weight of the kid was out of his arms. He stood up once she stepped back, watching her lay the baby down, his arms curled up toward his chest and the pacifier moving slightly as he worked it. He'd closed his eyes as Shawn had talked to him, and they stayed closed while Jules stood back up and faced him.

Shawn had his hands back in his jeans pockets, not sure what else to do with them. Her note said he was late, and he knew it, couldn't imagine the things they must have been thinking. “Um,” he said, keeping his voice soft so that he wouldn't wake up the baby again. “I know you guys probably talked, so... do you want me to go?”

Lassy stepped out into the hall. “Come out here,” he said, his voice low.

Juliet looked at Shawn for a few seconds more and then she walked past him, stopping when her feet hit the carpet runner in the hall. Shawn glanced around the room once more, cataloging it without thinking that he might never see it again, and he slowly followed. Lassy closed the door behind him and Shawn looked at Juliet again, noticing in the hall light how tired she looked, how red her eyes were—like she'd cried again recently—and his shoulders slumped.

“Shawn,” she whispered, and he managed to look back up at her. “Where were you?” she asked. “We thought... we even called Gus, and he said you'd left his place hours ago.”

He winced. “I'm sorry. I'm... stupid. I just...” He sighed, trying to think of how to explain that didn't sound moronic. Well, it was probably going to anyway, and they deserved to know that he was still an idiot. “I did leave Gus's at around six or so. And then I just... walked around. I wanted to give you lots of time, because I know that—you know, with everything, I didn't think it was something you could decide on in just a couple of hours. Or even days or weeks. And I was thinking myself, about lots of stuff. About you.” He looked at Lassy, who was watching him with his hands on his hips. “And you. And us. I went to the boardwalk, and I watched the ocean for awhile, and then I went by where Psych was... I knew it was gone, but it still made me sad, more crap on the pile of things I had  _so good_ and just... wrecked.” He sighed, dropping his eyes again. “I found a bench by the beach and just sat for awhile, thinking about how I could never have all of that stuff back. And then I...” He snorted and shook his head. “I'm sorry. I fell asleep.”

“You fell asleep,” Lassiter repeated, scowling.

Shawn had to fight hard not to smile at that—it wasn't funny or amusing, but seeing Lassy glaring at him because of some dumbass irritating thing he'd done was so familiar. He nodded instead. “I'm really sorry—when I woke up I realized it must be late, so I got here as soon as I could. I couldn't walk all the way, so I used the rest of the money Gus gave me to get a beer at some bar so they'd let me use their phone to call a cab.”

“I was wondering why we didn't hear your motorcycle,” Juliet said.

Shawn shrugged. “Left it in a parking lot—it's almost out of gas and I wanted to walk around to think.” He was actually kind of exhausted, physically and emotionally and mentally, and when he saw that there was a note on the door he'd been certain that it was going to tell him to go away and stay away. When he'd gotten up to the door and had seen that it invited him to come inside, saying they could talk tomorrow—that they were at least giving him a place to sleep in their house—he'd felt so much relief that he'd almost fudged the alarm security code after getting inside.

There was a long pause, and then Juliet stepped forward and hugged him, hard. “I'm glad you're here,” she said in his ear, and Shawn glanced at Lassy before carefully putting his arms around her. “Shawn...”

His eyes widened and his breath caught in his throat, and he felt like a shard of ice had pierced him in the stomach. It'd be so long since he'd felt it before that day that, like when he'd come into their bedroom and had seen his pillow still with theirs, it took him a few seconds to recognize it: hope.

Juliet let him go and looked at Lassy for a few seconds, and Shawn watched them, trying to stay calm and not hope too much. They were doing what Lassy had frequently complained about Shawn and Juliet doing—talking without words, communicating with their eyes and their thoughts. He thought he knew what they were saying, too, and he waited without breathing: they had decided what they wanted to do about him, with him. Now they were only figuring out who would speak first.

It was Juliet. She dragged her eyes away from Lassy and looked at Shawn, and it was hard for him to breathe again, because he thought he could read everything he needed to know in her eyes. “Shawn,” she said softly. “Can you tell me... can you  _promise_ me... that you have no more secrets, nothing else you're keeping from me? No more lies?”

“Yes,” he said. “The vasectomy thing was the last thing about myself I didn't tell you then. The last big thing—I'm sort of assuming you're not talking about, like, how I got drunk for the first time when I was nine.”

“No, I'm not.” She paused. “Is there anything from this last year we should know about?”

He wanted to look away from her eyes, because he felt guilty, but he made himself continue looking at her. “I slept with someone. But I hated it,” he added quickly. “I was drunk and lonely and I thought it would make me feel better, but halfway through I just felt worse and all I cared about was getting it over with so I could leave. I'm sorry.”

Juliet's mouth had tightened, but she didn't look or sound angry. “One someone, or more than one?”

“One.”

“Do you need to be tested?”

He started to shrug, and then he nodded—he could remember using a condom, but even with protection, when he and Juliet had been with others in the past, they'd made it a habit to get periodically tested, just to be safe. “I haven't been since then, so... yeah.”

“Is there anything else?”

There was only one thing he wasn't completely sure would count or not, and it would probably only upset them—and it wasn't necessarily relevant that he'd been in the ER twice for alcohol poisoning—so he shook his head.

“Do you swear it?” she asked.

He nodded, but knew immediately that it wasn't enough—this was it, this was what everything came down to, and it had to be spoken aloud or it wouldn't be real. “Yes,” he said.

Juliet was quiet for a few seconds longer, and then she seemed to brace herself. “Do you swear to me—to  _us—_ that you will never again lie, or keep secrets from us? Do you absolutely promise, Shawn, that we will  _never_ have to go through this again?”

“Yes,” he said again, his voice quiet but firm. “I promise, Juliet. No matter what happens now, or what happens in the future. I swear to you that I will never hurt you like that again.” He looked at Lassy. “And I swear it to you too.”

“Then we'll trust you,” Juliet said. She paused, watching his eyes widen, watching him see that she meant it. “One last time, Shawn. One more chance.”

He couldn't speak for a long moment, his eyes going between them and his heart flying, feeling so light and happy that it was like an ache. He didn't want to ask but felt that he had to—and if the answer was no, that didn't mean it would always be no. “Do you... do you still love me?” he managed. “Or... can you? Can you forgive me?”

Juliet's eyes filled with tears, and it didn't seem like she could speak either, but she nodded. Lassy took a single step then, all the space there was between him and Shawn, and he very gently cupped Shawn's face in both of his hands, tilting it up to look fully at him. “Yes, and yes,” he said softly. “Stay, Shawn. We want you to stay... because we can't really let you go.”

He wanted to fling his arms around them, to hold on until they made  _him_ let go, but he struggled for just a little longer, just a few more seconds, wanting to make  _absolutely_ sure. “Lassy... Jules,” he whispered. “Are... are we  _us_ again?”

“As long as it can be forever,” Jules said.

Lassy let go of Shawn's cheek with one hand, keeping one on his face and reaching for Juliet with the other. She stepped into them just as Lassy pulled Shawn against him. Three voices in the hall whispered, “I love you”, and although it was quiet, there was no more silence, no more emptiness, in the deep spaces of them all.

.

Juliet O'Hara was so overwhelmed with emotion that she felt much more exhausted than she did before; she wanted to stay up and talk, because there was still so much to go through and say, and to work out, but it was all details. There would be time enough for them later, in the morning. Now there was time.

She didn't want to pull away, but there were tears on her face and she wanted to wipe them away because crying was over. She let go of Carlton, who would understand, and used that hand to wipe at her cheeks while the other gave Shawn a last squeeze before she took half a step back so that everyone could have some air.

“We were just getting ready to get some sleep,” she said to Shawn, her voice a sigh of relief, tiredness, happiness... everything.

Shawn blinked. “Oh,” he said. “Right. Um... do you want me to camp out on the couch?”

Carlton gave him a slightly exasperated look. “Did you forget everything we just said? We want you with us. Together.”

Shawn started to smile a little, but she could see that his eyes were still unsure. “No—I mean, I'd like that. I just—that bed is smaller than the old one, and I didn't know—“

“It's a queen,” Juliet told him. They'd gotten rid of the giant one Carlton had gotten especially for the three of them because it had been too empty after Shawn had gone, too empty with just the two of them in it. “I think we'll fit if we scrunch, if we cuddle up.”

Shawn looked so hopeful at that, so longing, that she decided immediately that they'd make themselves fit however it took. “Okay,” he said. “If that's okay, I mean—I'm here, and that's what matters, I can totally sleep on the couch for awhile if—“

Juliet poked him in the chest. “Shut up and come to bed,” she said, and smiled.

.

Carlton Lassiter waited until Juliet and Shawn were settled together the way they'd most often slept in the years before: they were facing each other, her face tucked underneath the shelf of his jaw and his arms wrapped around her. Lassiter switched off the lamp on his side of the bed, and then he lay down on his side and molded himself to Shawn's back, putting an arm around him and pulling him close, smelling his hair and feeling their complete fit again.

They had come such a long way, each of them separately—the bright and spectacularly perky, shiny-eyed junior detective Juliet had been; the unhappy, separated-and-then-divorced workaholic Lassiter himself had been; the smooth-talking, smart-assed, lazy no-account that Shawn had been—and then in how they'd grown together. It was hard to believe that the woman he'd once told off for being too nice to suspects, and the man he'd once legitimately attempted to have arrested multiple times, were now ingrained so deeply into his heart that he knew he would never again be happy if he didn't have them both. There were times in the last year, the year without Shawn, that he'd thought he was getting to be okay again, but now, having him in his arms again, he knew that had been the farthest he ever could have gone toward fulfillment. Just okay.

“Shawn,” he said, partly because it had been so long since it was all right to say his name. So long since he could expect an answer instead of silence.

“Yeah, Lassy?”

Lassiter closed his eyes and held him tighter. “ _Never_ do that again.”

“I won't. I won't lie or—or hide things from you guys. I promise.”

“You said that. Now promise... that you're  _never_ going to leave us like that again.”

There was a short pause, and then Shawn sighed heavily, contentedly, and he leaned back against Lassiter, pulling Juliet with him. “Why would I ever leave?” he murmured. “I'm home again.”

.

When Shawn woke up the next morning, he was alone, but he was in the middle of the bed with his head on his own pillow, Lassy's and Jules' on either side of him. He could hear the baby fussing from another room, and although he didn't know what time it was, he knew anyway: time to get up, time to start the rest of his life.

He followed the sound of the baby to the kitchen and then he hovered in the doorway for a few moments, watching Juliet at the sink, warming up a bottle of formula with the hot water treatment, while Lassy stood at the stove, conducting the sounds and smells of breakfast. Shawn's stomach rumbled and he started to grin.

“Morning,” he said tentatively.

Jules turned back and when she saw him she smiled with her eyes shining. “Good morning. Have a seat.” She gestured to the table, which he saw was set with three places. “Carlton's taking a personal day from work so we can spend the day together and figure out the details of how we're going to make us work again—I think he's just about done with our breakfast.”

“Awesome,” Shawn said, pulling a chair out and plopping down on it. “Whatcha making, Lassy?”

Lassiter slid his eyes over to Shawn's for just a second before returning his attention to the skillets. “Omelets,” he said. “With free-range eggs, organic spinach, and tofu.”

Shawn blinked. What had  _happened_ to them in the time he'd been gone? Was it an effort to get the kid into healthy eating habits or something? He didn't want to be ungracious, but  _ew_ . Did he have to eat that in order to show them what a good boy he could still be? He glanced at the baby, who was in a car seat at one end of the long table, and wondered if he was eating jarred baby food yet, and if strained pineapple was one of the options, and if some sort of black market exchange could be made.

“Shawn,” Lassy said, and when he glanced over at him, he felt both exasperated and absurdly pleased at the look on Lassy's face. “I'm fucking with you,” he said patiently.

“Oh my god,” Shawn said, leaning forward to lightly bash his forehead on the tabletop. “Ouch. Right for the money, Lass. I can't believe I almost fell for that. What are you really making?”

“Omelets,” he said, amused. “But with cheese and mushrooms and bacon.”

“Sweet.” Shawn sat up again, grinning, and then he almost jumped out of his seat when the baby let out another wail. “Whoa, dude!” he said. “Hang on, little man, breakfast is coming.” He glanced at Jules, who also looked amused now. “Is it okay if I pick him up?” he asked. “That worked to quiet him down last night.”

“Sure,” she said. “Just be careful.”

Shawn stood up and examined the buckle that held the kid in the seat. He unsnapped it and cautiously edged his fingers around the baby's back and then lifted him, making sure to move slow and easy, and then he sat back down with Finn— _Sharkfinn—_ in the crook of one arm.

“There,” he said. “Hi. I guess we were never properly introduced yet, huh? Let's see. You're a Sharkfinn, and I'm a Shawn Spencer—otherwise known as, 'That a-hole who once claimed to know everything, but forgot the most important stuff—like what  _home_ really means, and who loved him so much that nothing else mattered'.” He paused. “You may have heard it both ways. But know this: I am  _never_ going to forget again. No matter what happens, and no matter what it takes.” He looked up at Jules and Lassy, who were both looking at him, and he nodded at them both. “We'll be us, and we'll be happy. Right?”

“Right,” Jules said, smiling back at him. “And anything else that comes up...”

“We'll just flip 'em the bird,” Lassy said, and Juliet chuckled.

Shawn thought of a key that was his way home, the last piece of their puzzle fitting in to make their picture complete, and he smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End credits song: "[Home](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ULU4ydOYTDU)" by Dishwalla. Stream the whole soundtrack [here](http://8tracks.com/acasofthousands/hs-pt3-ftb) @8tracks.


End file.
